Becoming Human
by Je Love You
Summary: When Hank and Connor are assigned bodyguard work, Connor's life becomes exponentially more complicated. As though adjusting to life post-deviancy wasn't enough, his systems were starting to glitch whenever he came into contact with the human he was supposed to be protecting. Hank thinks vulnerability is part of the "becoming human" experience, but is that really all it is? (C x OC)
1. Prologue: The Mission

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! I'm so excited to have a little more Connor in all of our lives. I have this Connor x OC story planned out and will be updating regularly. It takes place shortly after the androids' successful peaceful civil rights movement version of the storyline, where all survive and Hank and Connor remain friends. I realized FFnet has some auto-formatting stuff in place, so it removed a lot of the code formatting I had used for Connor's narrative. Ah well, it was more for visuals, anyway.

This was just a quick and fun prologue to get us started, and Chapter 1 will follow shortly to set up the story and fill in all the gaps. Note that this is going to be more of a slow burn to allow for better character development, starting with the next Chapter 1. This is a T story, but Hank's character is generous with his potty-mouth just like in the game... please let me know if I need to adjust my rating to M just for Hank's language and I shall do so. Please leave a review and follow so I know that it's a story worth continuing!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fanfic and my OCs!

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Prologue: The Mission

 _December 11, 2038. 1:04pm._

"With all due respect, sir, you can go fuck your hat."

/ / / / … Searching… / / / /

 **Colloquialism not found.**

While Connor could not definitively conclude why it would be of any use for a human to have sexual relations with a hat (or why suggesting such a thing could be considered respectful), he had a feeling that his partner was not speaking literally. A quick scan revealed increased temperatures and tense body language in both Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler, and even as an android he could detect the fury in their expressions. While it was unlikely that a fist fight would break out between a captain and his lieutenant (current readings listed it as a 38% chance), Connor still calculated the most effective way to intervene, should it come to that. He had learned very quickly that his readings of Hank were wildly inaccurate compared to the rest of his features; when it came to Hank, the best way to operate was to prepare for the unexpected.

"Fine, Hank," said Fowler, shaking his head. He appeared to be unfazed by Hank's rather explicit suggestion, if a bit exasperated. "I'll go fuck my hat, and while I do that, you can do your _goddamn_ job."

"What's a precinct doing accepting bodyguard assignments, anyhow, huh?" refuted Hank, leaning forward in his seat. "That's not my job. That's not any cop's job, let alone mine or Connor's."

Connor was certain that he detected a minor flinch from the Captain, whose regular speech pattern hesitated for 2.04 seconds before he answered.

"That's none of your concern," Fowler said firmly. "What _does_ concern you is that I've been ordered to assign this mission, and I am assigning it to _you._ "

 **Mission acquired.**

/ / / / …Generating sub-objectives… / / / /

"Ah, shit, you just _had_ to use that word, didn't you?" Connor caught Hank staring at the LED on his temple, its change in colour likely giving away that he was already processing the information. Hank stood up from his chair so abruptly that it fell over, its wheels left spinning awkwardly in the air. He braced his hands on Fowler's desk, the anger in his expression subsiding in favour of begrudging defeat.

"Seriously, Jeffrey. Why me? How the hell am I physically fit enough for this job, let alone actually _qualified_ –"

"I should have made you turn in your badge the you the second you punched Perkins in the nose," Captain Fowler said, and Hank groaned, burying his head into his hands. "Hell, I should have made you turn in your badge years ago when you first developed this shitty attitude. But I didn't, Hank. This is the least you could do for me."

"You're seriously going to punish me for that? The guy was a prick! If anything, punching him in the nose made him look _better._ "

"In any case," Fowler carried on, sitting up straighter in his seat. "It'll be an easy job; maybe even boring. I think you both could use a little bit of boring after last month. Your job is to be security detail for Jeremy Morrow and his daughter, Ariel. Morrow is one of the diplomats serving as a liaison between President Warren and the androids in the peace negotiations. Connor, I shouldn't have to say this, but this is a mission you can't talk about with other androids. Okay?"

/ / / / …Processing… / / / /

 **Conflict of interest identified: Mission details secured. Exception(s): Hank Anderson; Jeffrey Fowler; Jeremy Morrow; Ariel Morrow.**

 **680,000 search results for Jeremy Morrow, Diplomat. 369,000 search results for Ariel Morrow, daughter of Diplomat.**

 **More details needed to narrow search.**

Connor's LED flickered yellow once again as Fowler continued: "They've kept this news hush from the media, so his involvement is going to be rather unknown. The androids have demonstrated nothing but a desire for peace between us so far, which should make it nice and simple for you. All you gotta do is make sure that they don't die while the negotiations are still happening. Okay? His daughter isn't involved politically, but just in case, they want security detail for her too."

Hank shook his head but remained quiet, which was the most subservient action he had performed all afternoon. Connor took this opportunity to contribute constructively to the conversation, now that their mission had been decided. While Hank had knocked his chair over and was now pacing the perimeter of Fowler's office, Connor was seated politely across from him in his own still in-tact chair.

"Do you have a file, Captain?" he asked. "A briefing, perhaps, of the Morrows?"

"I normally would, but Mr. Morrow has asked to meet you both in person first. Tomorrow evening, they're expecting you at their house. They've assured me they'll inform you of everything you need to know."

"It's very unusual to walk into an assignment without being prepared first," Connor commented, concern evident in his tone.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you're used to 'unusual' by now, Connor." Fowler grabbed a pen and a post-it note off his desk, hastily scribbling down an address in northern Detroit. "Just go to this address tomorrow. Dinner is at 6pm. Dress well – Mr. Morrow has told me that it's a dinner party."

Hank's eyes widened and he kicked the chair so hard it skid across the floor, clanging loudly against the metal filing cabinet in the corner.

"A dinner party?! _For fuck's sake_ – _"_


	2. Chapter 1: The Collision

_December 12, 2038. 5:54pm._

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but somehow, he was always the one that ended up waiting around for a fucking android. No matter the situation or the urgency of time, his new mechanical partner always seemed to be somewhere that Hank wasn't – clearly, the deviancy had not impacted that obsessive need in Connor to scan absolute everything everywhere they fucking went. It wasn't like he generally minded; the few extra seconds or minutes it took Connor to scan every inch of a crime scene usually ended up being worth it. But did he have to act like this even _outside_ of working hours? They were at the mall just so Connor could pick up something small to bring to a dinner party, and he'd been gone for over half an hour already. Hank had been waiting for so long that he was pretty sure that the people working at the Santa photo exhibit near his bench thought he was a weirdo loitering around for kids.

Okay, maybe not that long, but over the last six years, Hank had become accustomed to having no one to wait around for at all. Now everything had suddenly shifted, and he was still adjusting: in just a few days, he'd gained a friend, a partner and a roommate. Extending an invitation to Connor to live with him had just seemed like the right thing to do, especially considering they were partners permanently now. Much to Hank's surprise, Connor had been hired on by the precinct after the movement so that he wouldn't be taken back by CyberLife. Apparently Fowler liked that the kid brought out the best in Hank or some shit. But if Connor brought out the best in him, then why the hell were they being ordered to be bodyguards? Being a bodyguard was never as interesting or as dangerous as it was portrayed to be on TV. It just had the potential to be, and Hank knew a lot about wasted potential.

Still, asking Connor to live with him might be a contender for Hank's top "what the hell did you just do to yourself?" moment. It only took a few days of living with the kid for Hank to realize he hadn't exactly thought the cohabiting thing all the way through. First of all, with Connor around, he couldn't just let it all hang out in his own house anymore, no matter how much Connor insisted it didn't matter to an android if one saw him naked. ( _'No way in hell. If I ever see your naked ass on my couch, consider yourself evicted.')_ Second, androids don't sleep. Hank knew that, but it didn't make it any less freaky when he got up for his 3am piss and spotted Connor in the living room, reading a book in the dark, or watching TV or just staring at nothing. Then, finally, and _Hank could not stress this enough_ : Connor was _way_ too fucking pleasant _._ With his stupidly precise haircut and his newfound ability to have an existential crisis, Connor was this intensely friendly, infuriatingly intellectual and profound _being_ that was just as confused as humans were about the fact that he had feelings and desires when he shouldn't. Hank had seen the change firsthand: Connor, originally a by-the-book authoritarian bot, had broken past the parameters that society had literally set for him and fought for the freedom to make his own decisions, and yet questioning every decision he made along the way. Hank considered that kind of experience nothing less than human _,_ regardless of his biowhatever body parts and his blue blood. It was that flawed side of Connor that Hank found himself invested in. His programming had learned to feel fear, to care about others, to enjoy music, and to laugh at Hank's outdated impression of Mr. Krabs (which was, even after six years of neglect, still spot on, _thank you very much_ ). The more that Hank thought about it, the more he realized the 'how' of it all didn't really matter. All that mattered was that Connor was alive in his own way, and he experienced feelings and conflict just like the rest of them.

None of this, though, changed the fact that he fantasized about punching Connor in his symmetrical face whenever he chirped good morning, asked him about his sleep, and what his plans were for the day all before Hank had even reached his coffee machine or put on pants.

Yes, he should probably have more patience with Connor, but feelings in general made Hank uncomfortable. Sometimes, Connor would ask him questions about the "human experience", about feelings and what Hank did about them, but so far, Hank hadn't given him more than a gruff word or two in response. Even for a human, Hank knew that his version of having feelings was unorthodox, as he usually dealt with them by drowning them in the bottom of a bottle. Hank knew he was a bit rough around the edges; a shaggy result of some less-popular "riches to rags" story. He'd lost a wife (who he never let himself think about, let alone talk about), then his own fucking son. Cole had been this perfect miracle of a boy, somehow born out of the swamp of Hank's countless failings and imperfections. He had saved him from the abyss of despair after Elinore passed, so much of her in him shining through every day. And of course, Hank had managed to fuck that up too; Cole ended up following in his mother's footsteps six years later, leaving only him behind. It was only natural that the darkness came rushing back: his once-fierce passion for a job that he used to display so much potential for followed suit, spiraling down in a whirlpool of limitless liquors and Russian roulette. What did any of it matter if he was just left behind in this garbage dumpster of a world without them?

All this to say that Hank didn't want to be saved. The last thing he wanted was some boy wonder showing up and forcing him to give a shit about what was left of his life. He had never expected to like the android, let alone care about him this much; it had been quite the turnaround for Hank to realize that he may not care about his own life, but after everything they went through, he would sure as hell fight for Connor's right to have one. After all, Cole had his right to live robbed from him; he would no longer stand idly by and watch it happen to anybody else, even androids. But how the hell had it all ended up with Hank _here,_ in the middle of a crowded mall on a Saturday in December? _The holiday season, Jesus Christ._ Probably his least favourite time of the year.

"Hank!"

Oh, thank fuck. That dopey voice was like music to his ears; it meant Hank was that much closer to getting away from the old guy in the red velvet suit being paid to have kids sit in his lap. Connor ran up to him with an unabashed grin on his perpetually youthful face, looking entirely human save for the LED spinning around the disc on his temple. Even though it had already been a month since the androids won their civil movement, Hank was still getting used to seeing Connor wear something other than his RK800 cybersuit. He had a few outfits in his otherwise sparse closet, but he normally alternated between his new detective uniform and the clothes he had worn when he'd first became a deviant. Today, following Fowler's orders, Connor was dressed up for the Morrows' dinner party. Now that he was getting paid for his work, he could afford a decent outfit, although it had taken a hell of a lot of willpower on Hank's part to stop Connor from attending the party in a tuxedo that he had originally picked out for himself. Instead, the android was wearing a fitted sports jacket and pair of slim-cut dark denim pants, with his usual (ridiculously neat) collared shirt and tie. Hank gave negative shits about this party, so he had just thrown on whatever Connor picked out for him. Apparently, that meant he was attending the dinner party dressed as a sad hippy.

"What the hell, Connor," Hank snapped. "What kept you? They're about to close!"

As usual, Connor's realization that he had annoyed Hank resulted in guilty puppy-dog eyes, which just made Hank feel bad for being so hard on him. It was a vicious cycle of Hank being a total sucker.

"I'm sorry," said Connor sincerely, and Hank felt his hostility begin to subside. Damn. "I was in the new pastry shop on the second floor. I picked up some desserts to bring to the party, but there was a long line because of the holiday sales."

Hank sighed, and he abandoned his curt impatience in favour of walking alongside Connor towards the exit. "But you don't eat. You waited forty minutes in line for food you can't eat?"

"I _can_ eat, technically speaking, though I generally choose not to. But this isn't for me, anyway. This is for Mr. Morrow and his daughter." The doors of the shopping centre beeped as they slid open, revealing the icy path to his salvation in the form of his beat-up car. Connor produced his toque from the pocket of his jacket, pulling it over his hair to protect it from the falling snow.

"Wait, you can eat?" Hank flashed him his trademark skeptical side-glance, and his gaze briefly swept over Connor as he approached the car and grabbed the ice scraper from the back seat. Where the hell would any food go? Had his prototype been potty-trained or something?

"The RK800 has a scanner on the tongue," Connor explained as he began to clear the snow from the car. "I have taste buds to help detect oddities in a substance, and ancillary biocomponents to permit digestion. They were originally installed to give unusable material somewhere to go, rather than for the conventional dietary-related reasons."

The image of Connor licking blue blood off his fingers flashed through Hank's unfortunate mind.

"Huh. Imagine that. I've suddenly lost my appetite."

"More for the Morrows then," Connor said pleasantly as he moved to start removing the snow from the rear windshield next. "It's rude to show up to a party empty-handed."

How many social conventions had CyberLife programmed into a bot meant to handle detective work?

"This again," Hank scoffed, shaking his head. "We're glorified babysitters who prepare to take a bullet for someone but never do. We've been assigned to them. We're not visiting their home as dinner party guests; we're visiting to introduce ourselves, learn about them and their home so we can offer better security."

"Except there's a party and we're their guests, so–"

"Shut up."

"Now, Lieutenant, don't be grumpy because we utilized the precinct's fitness facility this morning," he chided, his tone brimming with upbeat condescension. The comment was seemingly off-hand, and yet it had correctly identified the beginnings of Hank's frustrations that day, which really only served to start aggravating him again. Somehow, it had been easier to just go to the damned gym with Connor than try to argue with him. "Both your cholesterol and job performance will greatly benefit from exercise," he added matter-of-factly.

"But _you_ don't need to exercise. Why the hell do you care about going to the gym?"

"Moral support. Humans have a higher success rate in weight loss when they have a gym buddy to hold them accountable."

Hank's eye twitched.

 _Gym buddy?_

"Just get in the fucking car, will ya?"

Then, quick enough to escape the sharp notice of even _his_ scanners, it happened: a chain reaction of inconsequential events that would (unbeknownst to either of them) become something all too important.

He couldn't tell what it had been, or who it had been, but a blur of red suddenly lost its footing on the icy path and collided with Connor – _hard_ – taking him both by surprise and down with them onto the slippery pavement. Connor let out a startled noise, not even a grunt but something sounding similar to _'nghooof!'_ before he hit the ground, tangled up with whatever moron had tried to run across a parking lot in the snow. Hank watched uselessly as the box of pastries slipped from his partner's grasp, scattering tarts and cookies across the parking lot. His black toque flew off his head, revealing that his LED was cycling red.

"Holy shit."

He'd actually been caught off guard – Hank had never seen anything like it. Connor was the epitome of perfectly engineered efficiency and grace, even though his unintimidating and lanky exterior might make others assume the opposite. He had tried to explain that his appearance was meant to put humans at ease, but there was nothing at all calming in how Hank had seen him dodge bullets, somersault beneath closing doors and sprint between vehicles on a major highway. But today the android, who was already built to be all limbs, ended up twisted on the ground in a humanly imperfect fashion, his shoulder touching his foot somehow and his elbows scraping against the rock beneath him. As the collision-prone stranger popped back up onto their feet with impressive speed, Connor took a moment to stretch himself out and brace for his surroundings. His hand shot above his eyes and he squinted up at the figure, clearly just as confused as Hank, the disc on his temple still spinning quickly.

"Oh God, I'm _so_ sorry!" The stranger was already there, offering her hand to the fallen android. It wasn't until Connor was standing again, brushing the snow off of his jacket, that Hank realized how petite she was, especially next to them. He bit back a grin. It kind of made it all the more impressive that she had unexpectedly taken down CyberLife's most advanced android _and_ recovered more quickly than him. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but she barely reached five feet tall; her small size was emphasized by the thick, red winter coat and scarf she was not so much wearing as drowning in. Her eyes were large, round with concern, and brown, but not dark like Connor's – they were more of a bright honey colour that stood out against her other dark features. Her hair fell in thick, black waves, mussed by the fallen hood of her coat and frizzing due to the snow.

"Are you all right?" she was antsy as she posed the question, practically bouncing on the tips of her toes and apparently in some sort of rush. It occurred to Hank then that Connor hadn't actually said anything to her yet, which was strange. It wasn't every day that Hank got to witness him speechless; usually around pretty girls, Hank was the one with the least to say. This time it was Connor, his LED stuck on red as he stared at her with an indecipherable expression on his face. She had picked up his fallen toque for him, which he accepted, but his hand lingered, brushing against hers. It didn't appear to be a tender moment, however, as his eyes were narrowed and focused.

"I'm fine," Connor finally answered, sounding distracted and unlike himself. Hank remained quiet as he watched the yellow start to fight back and attempt to de-stabilize the red. What about this chick was freaking him out so badly? Connor eventually caught the stern glance Hank had sent him, and that seemed like enough to shake him out of it. His expression finally softened, though his LED continued to flicker between colours. "Sorry. Something must be off with my programming – I can normally hear people coming from a great distance."

While her concern for Connor did seem genuine, her attention had been stolen by the time displayed on her watch. She was already walking away as she answered, "Shit, I've got to run. Sorry again!" She broke out into a run across the salted parking lot, offering an awkward, " _Glad you're okay!_ " to Connor over her shoulder. Clearly, she had learnt absolutely nothing after everything that had just happened.

"Well, that was fun," Hank said, smug, as Connor stared after her. "Don't get me wrong, I always enjoy seeing you get beat down – but it's a special treat to see it done by someone a foot shorter than you." The playful hazing soared right over Connor's head, and he turned to face Hank with a serious expression.

"I'm the most advanced android that CyberLife has ever created. I don't understand. How was I not even aware that a human was there?" He seemed genuinely distressed, and Hank felt that discomfort once again, still not entirely familiar with the best way to reassure a robot going through an emotional crisis. "How did my scans fail to retrieve any relevant information on her in my databases? When I saw her, I had no idea what to say or what to think. Could the deviancy really be affecting my software this much in the short-term?"

 _Oh, jeez._ Hank did his best to be sensitive, but it came out in the form of a casual shrug as he got into the car.

"Hey, you guys fought to be equal. It's only fair that you get to be as miserable as the rest of us when it comes to figuring out why we become idiots the second we see a pretty girl."

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 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for your follows and reviews, and for bearing with me through Chapter 1 – it had to lay out some of the ground work, but that means next chapter we'll be able to start diving into the character dynamics. Yay! Plus, we got to see some of Hank's depth, and that's always fun. If you have the time, please leave a review – they really keep me going!

 **Disclaimer:** Usual disclaimer applies.


	3. Chapter 2: Her

_December 12, 2038. 8:23pm._

It was a peculiar thing, Connor decided, to feel grateful for bacon-wrapped shrimp.

To be honest, it was a peculiar thing for him to feel anything at all. Any decisions in his past had been the direct result of extensive coding rather than emotions; millions of rules and exceptions that led to the RK800's decision-making priorities based on limitless scenarios. It had been the result of humans designing his artificial intelligence, which inevitably began to learn on its own, going above and beyond what the humans had been capable of designing in a controlled environment. While the coding still existed in his officially deviant software, it now served as more of his moral compass, influencing his personality and his interests rather than commanding him to perform certain actions.

Tonight, the result of all that advanced technology and evolving AI resulted in an android feeling grateful for bacon-wrapped shrimp.

There was nothing particularly spectacular about it (at least not to Connor), but there was no doubt that his discovery of it at the party that evening had allowed the night to progress smoothly. The Morrows' house had turned out to be grand – far grander than Connor had been expecting, especially considering the usual salary of an American Diplomat. Certainly, the higher-ranking seniors could make around $100,000.00 USD, but based on his initial scan of the property, this house was easily worth more than twenty times that. It had architectural columns, genuine Manfred artwork and a baby grand piano in the foyer alone. It was even large enough to have an east wing and a west wing, the latter of which being where the party was located. An alert upon their arrival had notified Connor of Hank's steadily increasing stress-level; the Detective seemed to be experiencing discomfort being amongst such grandeur, and before the housekeepers had even offered to take Hank's coat, his stress level had risen above 80%, which prompted Connor to try and make him feel more at ease. The last thing either of them needed was a repeat of the angry fit that Hank had thrown in Captain Fowler's office.

Mercifully, the dinner party was buffet-style rather than a formal seated multi-course event. Hank did not do well making small talk with strangers. The guests were free to pick from a variety of gourmet items and alcohol, then eat wherever they pleased, so Hank could at least keep to himself if he wanted to.

' _Look, Lieutenant,'_ he had said, pointing towards the table closest to them. ' _They have bacon-wrapped shrimp.'_ Connor had quickly identified one of Hank's favourite finger foods, recalling a memory in which the Detective had eaten almost an entire plate to himself at one of the precinct's monthly team-building lunches. He was pleased to note that the sight of the appetizer stabilized Hank's mood almost immediately. Connor didn't want to even consider how the night might have gone if they had only served vegetarian dishes and low-calorie beer.

 _'Well,'_ Hank had cleared his throat and tried to appear aloof, _'May as well eat while we're here, then, eh?'_

Hank's mood only continued to improve as he discovered other foods to his liking, resulting in a mostly-relaxed state. His increased need to masticate also presented fewer opportunities for him to complain about how this was _not their job_ – yet another thing for Connor to feel grateful for, as complaints were not particularly useful to him. Logically, the job had already been decided for them and there was no changing that, so the griping was essentially pointless. Not that he would voice such thoughts; he had learned quickly that when he did, he usually only served to irritate Hank. The more agreeable he was, the easier this would be for both of them.

Hank also seemed to be impressed with their selection of liquor. While he perused the various bottles, Connor took the opportunity to focus on re-calibrating his own systems. Much to his dismay, the literal run-in with the stranger in the mall had left him frazzled. 43% of his overall attire was now dusted with an ambiguous combination of salt and dirt, and the mall had closed before Connor had a chance to replace the pastries that ended up littering the parking lot. Not only had they shown up late to the party, but empty-handed, regardless of his efforts, which was frustrating. He had noticed peoples' gazes lingering on him all night, likely observing his less-than-appropriate state of cleanliness for such a gathering. Connor kept adjusting his tie; while this was a normal tic of his, tonight it served the dual purpose of ensuring that one of the worst stains on his shirt remained as hidden as possible behind the black silk. It wasn't self-consciousness, he didn't think, as much as the fact that his primary functions involved being professional and capable, both in service and appearance. Even his deviant attire was well-fitted and in good condition. Appearing sloppy did not fit within his programmed parameters of comfort, especially not when on duty. He took pride in his work and preferred that his usual appearance reflected this.

It should be pointed out that, while Connor did not see the point in complaining, he did actually agree with Hank that this was all very unusual. Putting aside the blatant irrelevance to detective work, why on earth had they been invited to this dinner party? They didn't know any of the guests and their mission was classified, so it wasn't like they could be honest with strangers as to why they were attending an event hosted by someone they had not yet met. There were also so many people that they were not able to get to know the Morrows personally, rendering Connor's original theory as to why they had been invited invalid. It felt _odd_ , but it was all only speculation at this point. Unlike Hank, he just didn't feel the need to grumble about it. Connor estimated at least an hour of listening to him mutter about " _these fuckin' rich people_ " before Mr. Morrow had finally come over to introduce himself. A man around Hank's age, he was shorter than the average Caucasian male, and conventionally handsome, with a muscular build, an olive complexion, blonde wavy hair and green eyes. He was friendly, bordering on boisterous, although Connor suspected the latter trait had something to do with the fact that his blood alcohol concentration was presently at .08%. A quick analysis revealed that he had no criminal record or affiliation with the Detroit City Police Department, which meant that he could not pull any background information from his linked databases. He also knew from a previous attempt that CyberLife did not have files on Jeremy or Ariel Morrow either. Apparently, the government was taking the utmost care in securing their private information, so Connor was forced to manually create a subject profile to store in his memory, noting Mr. Morrow's basic physical attributes and demeanor.

After the introductions, he had invited them into his office, where Connor and Hank now sat, alone, waiting to meet his security team. He had social obligations to the party, so it made sense that he handed off the particulars to his staff once he introduced himself. Realistically, it would be his security team that oversaw the details of their assignment rather than Mr. Morrow himself, and Connor was eager to get his hands on reliable information about the job. He was already drafting a report as he sat, eyes closed, so that he could quickly upload updates to Captain Fowler on Monday–

 **Disconnected.**

my $u0050u0076key = $u0064; foreach (keys %some_hash) {

if ($_ eq $search_key) { access_G:/($_);

}

.

. . }

Suddenly, error messages and resulting troubleshooting procedures overwhelmed his vision. It was nothing like the mall from earlier that evening – this time, it was much more aggressive. Sharp static crackled through his auditory components, causing Connor to grimace; androids may not feel pain, but there was still displeasure. The only similarity to before was the duration of the error: as quickly as it had happened, it was gone again. For a moment, he was terrified he had contracted a virus, but a diagnostics test showed his systems were all fully operational, despite the momentary episode.

 **Reconnected.**

 _What was happening to him?_

"Hey, Connor – you okay?"

Hank was staring at him, his concerned gaze flickering between Connor's face and his temple, where his LED was flickering between yellow and red for the second time that evening. Connor debated telling Hank what had happened, but quickly decided against it. There was no need to worry him when he wasn't even sure what was happening yet.

"Yes." Noticing his audio sounded a bit strained, Connor cleared his throat and made more of an effort to appear at ease now that the errors had ceased. "Sorry. I think I might have to do some maintenance tonight when we get home. The incident at the mall might have knocked something loose."

Hank didn't appear convinced, but he didn't push further.

"Lieutenant Anderson?"

Following a knock, a woman walked into the office, tall and strikingly slender. Despite her frame, she did not appear fragile. On the contrary, she looked quite powerful, equipped with a stern gaze and strong jaw. She wore a fitted black suit, and her gray hair was cut into a tidy bob, not one strand out of place. Connor appreciated that she exuded an air of professionalism and did not immediately try to fill the room with small talk; she got right down to business, shaking Hank's hand first, and then Connor's, offering a civil, "Thank you both for coming." She was the first person whose gaze did not linger on his stained jacket or wet pants, but Connor had yet to determine if that was due to her desire to get to work or an indifference towards androids in general. A younger man followed closely behind her, wearing the same style of suit in his much larger size; this time, Connor could not conduct any kind of facial recognition scan because he was one of those humans that inexplicably wore sunglasses indoors in the evening, shielding his irises but most certainly impairing his vision.

"I am Lorraine Meyer and this is my associate, Michael Baker," she introduced, and Connor was unsurprised to find that his search of their names still returned no relevant results, the correct matching profiles likely also locked off from his databases. Michael held a briefcase and possessed a towering disposition, but it was easy enough to conclude that Lorraine was the one running the entire operation.

"We serve as security detail for the Morrows," she began. "Generally, the extra hands are not needed, but considering the potential danger Mr. Morrow and his family may find themselves in, we need to temporarily increase his level of security, at least until Mr. Morrow's involvement in the negotiations has concluded." Connor considered reminding Lorraine that androids were not violent by nature, but his systems warned him such a fact may not be received well, considering they had just met. She went on: "I understand this must be strange for you, but rest assured there is a method to our madness. We have requested you both specifically, and Captain Fowler was kind enough to grant us the authorization. Having the lieutenant and the RK800 that worked on the deviant cases is a huge advantage, given the nature of Mr. Morrow's current work. The two of you are already better-equipped with the background needed to identify any possible deviant-related security threats than the rest of the talent pool in Detroit."

The bedraggled android and the lieutenant dressed like a sad hippy exchanged a glance – clearly, neither of them had expected to have been specifically requested.

Something nagged at Connor again, but he ignored the feeling as Lorraine continued.

"Michael and I will continue to oversee their home and their itineraries, while you two will primarily be responsible for their safety _outside_ of the house. Lieutenant Anderson, due to your seniority and experience, we have assigned you to watch over Mr. Morrow. The android–"

"His name is Connor," Hank interrupted firmly. There was a tense moment where Lorraine and Hank stared at each other, neither apologetic; two strong personalities clashed from opposite sides. Lorraine's lip twitched.

" _Connor,_ " she corrected herself, albeit curtly, _"_ will be responsible for his daughter, Ms. Morrow. She is just visiting over the holidays, and staying in one of the guest rooms downstairs. I trust there are no objections?"

"Well," Hank began gruffly, "Connor's probably more _physically_ qualified to protect Jer–"

"Good. Moving on."

Despite her question, Lorraine was evidently not actually open to suggestions, especially not from the man who had just corrected her. Hank pursed his lips, giving away that he was making great efforts not to speak out of turn. Neither Hank nor Connor said anything further, and Michael proceeded to hand them each a data pad. "Here are your files. Please review and study them. It goes without saying that these cannot be shared, and there are restrictions that will prevent you from accessing the files in public spaces. They include security plans for the house, itineraries for both Jeremy and Ariel, and emergency procedures should anything happen to them. Should you ever lose these, please notify me immediately, and I will remotely destroy its contents–"

" _Um - excuse me_ , _sorry to interrupt._ " A polite voice and a soft knock sounded on the other side of the door. Michael straightened up immediately.

"Ah, that must be Ms. Morrow. She had mentioned she would stop by to introduce herself. Come in!"

The door opened just slightly, and the woman on the other side hesitantly peered into the room. Michael gestured for her to enter.

/…? ? ? ? ? ?… / / /

[rule=#drfhzzzax, if (ar8.1d); then (asf0404a3668asdkjadfzzzzzxX) .]

The second she walked in, Connor's sensors notified him that his temperature was increasing at an alarming rate, his shock resulting in an increased pump rate in his thirium regulator. His scanner urgently began to store her appearance in his memory for the purposes of analysis: five feet tall; approximately 105 pounds; golden skintone, appearing to be due to genetic pigmentation rather than the result of exposure to sunlight or heat. Her black hair was pulled back into a loose braid that draped over her shoulder and she was dressed professionally, a silk blouse tucked neatly into a fitted pencil skirt which had a small slit running up her right thigh. It only took 2.3 seconds to complete a subject profile for Ariel Morrow, his systems successfully matching her appearance to a photo he had saved in his memory less than three hours prior. As he played back the footage in his memory, he caught glimpses of red, snow and pastries.

Honey-brown eyes glanced in his direction, widening with recognition.

 _It was her._

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow - thank you all so much for the support! Sorry that this chapter ended up laying out more groundwork, but now that that introductions are mostly out of the way, I am _very_ excited for what's in store for our dear Connor and Hank, especially as they get closer to Christmas. I hope you are all excited too! If you have the time, please leave me a review below. I promise we'll be diving into the more fun stuff very soon, so I hope you stick around to read it!

Edit: I'm finding the Doc Manager for some reason struggles to upload my chapters. I find random sentences cut off part way. I'm hoping I've caught them all, but please let me know if you notice any! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 3: Serendipity

_December 14, 2038. 4:22pm._

Connor did not believe in luck.

Connor did not believe in luck, or karma, nor did he blame any of his misfortunes on a planet in retrograde. Deviancy did not change that for him. When other androids had first become deviant, Connor had observed that they became more philosophical, suddenly believing in things like rA9 and praying it would come to free them one day. As Connor understood it, much of the Jericho community had operated with those beliefs before Markus had come along. One of the few things that Connor realized he had in common with the leader of the android movement was that it didn't make sense to wait for some omnipotent being to effect change. Logically, they themselves had to enact change to see it happen. Connor still hadn't completely dismissed his theory that logic ruled the RK-series of android, especially considering that both he and Markus had retained their rationale even after deviancy. Logic was the foundation that CyberLife had clearly improved on throughout the series since Markus' model, and Connor was the most advanced result. Of course that meant he knew that luck was fiction; a byproduct of those who truly did not understand the reality of statistics and chance.

So then _why_ could he not think of a logical way to describe how he ended up in this situation?

Connor had no way of calculating the likelihood that he would end up being the bodyguard of a woman he'd encountered at the mall previously, unaware of her importance at the time. There simply wasn't a relevant pre-existing statistic in his module to compare to, and that was even before considering all the extraneous factors (he was _not_ a bodyguard by profession, and she did _not_ live in Detroit). He begrudgingly had to chalk it up to unlikely coincidence, but such a concession certainly did notmean that Connor thought it was the result of some kind of ambiguous fate.

At the very least, he didn't seem to be alone in his bewilderment. That night at the dinner party, Ariel had appeared just as surprised to see him. Their introduction had resulted in nothing more than an earnest apology from her for knocking him over and a disapproving look from Lorraine. Apparently, she was not impressed by the fact that they had previously met in the mall parking lot, where Ariel had successfully caught him off-guard and knocked him to the ground just by _tripping._

Still, at least she hadn't taken been so put-off as to remove him from the assignment. It was officially his first day on the job and so far, the actual job itself was straightforward. Many of his responsibilities were functions literally already programmed to be in Connor's nature. He barely had to bat an eyelash to run the necessary scans and preconstructions that would ensure Ariel Morrow's safety. His sensors could also track her, so it was easy for him to maintain his distance and still be confident that she was safe. To prepare, he had read through the entire file, storing the blueprints of their house and adding the provided information to his subject profiles for the Morrows. Ariel was apparently a chemist, employed by a lab that was situated in Hawaii. Her parents were divorced and her mother also lived in Hawaii, so Ariel visited her father in Detroit during the holidays. The file also noted that she had completed her Masters with honours from the University of Michigan, where both her parents had attended (and presumably met). While there was only a little information on Ariel's mother in the file, Connor had to assume that she took more after her, because there was very little similarity to her father aside from his height and nose. While they were all American citizens, Ariel's father was of German descent and her mother was of Samoan, resulting in a genetic predisposition for Ariel that was an intriguing blend of both. The file remained purely factual, leaving out things like interests and hobbies, so he still didn't have a lot of information, but it was better than being completely in the dark like before.

Earlier that morning, Lorraine had explained that it shouldn't be obvious to others that Hank and Connor were their bodyguards, and it was best that they followed their subjects at a distance. Hank had then proceeded to make a sarcastic remark about stalkers, but Connor hadn't understood ( _'Why would people think we're stalkers? We're just doing our job.'_ ). Ideally, no one should notice that they were together at all, so most of his day was spent keeping an eye on Ariel, but not really interacting with her. He wasn't even entirely sure if she knew that he was there. One thing was for sure, though: from what Connor had seen, she liked to keep busy. Ariel had worked remotely using her laptop despite being on holidays, studied in the library over the lunch hour, and now she was just finishing her boxing class - a class she took _after_ running on the treadmill for forty-five minutes. He could spot her from where he sat on the bleachers in the waiting area outside of her classroom, as all the walls were made of glass. It seemed to be a marketing ploy rather than an insensitivity towards peoples' privacy: it allowed potential new customers a visual as to how fit they could be if they paid for classes on top of their monthly membership. Ariel was closest to the wall in the back row of the class, which he was grateful for. Her height would have made it difficult to assess her safety if she were obscured by the twenty other bodies jab-crossing.

It was a common misconception that androids didn't notice beauty. In fact, androids had all been programmed with some sense of beauty so that they could formulate appropriate responses to humans when necessary. They could observe the beauty of a rose, a painting, or a person, and comment on it, adding to its companionship benefits. Whether or not they were _affected_ by the beauty was another thing entirely, and that seemed to differ from android to android. Connor, unsurprisingly, was one of the models that had never really been affected. Nothing really took his breath away or "moved him" in the way that seemed to impact humans. He never marveled at the sight of something. He could see that strands of hair fell from Ariel's ponytail in loose waves, framing her face; he could also see that her spandex shorts and fitted tanktop hugged her curves in a way that humans might find attractive. But he noticed all of this in the same way that he noticed that the door leading to her classroom was white. They were just attributes to him - nothing more, nothing less. If anything had the potential to actually affect him, it would be her expression and her demeanour: the way only the right corner of lips quirked upwards when she had read something funny, and when she talked, she would often use her hands, even if on the phone.

Although, these observations regarding Ariel Morrow _didn't_ affect him. Obviously.

He was a professional.

Connor simply had a tendency to fixate on human expression with anyone; if there was anything that made it obvious to humans that he was an android (aside from his LED), it was the fact that he just had no idea how to be expressive. Androids had been programmed to blink and breathe and simulate human behaviour, but Connor felt he still had limitations on how "lifelike" his behaviour module actually was. Certainly, he knew many other androids had mastered expression after deviancy, but that had never been the RK800's priority, and so in comparison, he knew that he was a lot more (for lack of a better word) _robotic._ Humans inevitably had a wider range of expression – even Hank, who did his best to hide his from the world. Connor suspected he felt something akin to envywhen he saw other androids more naturally expressive than him, as he had become accustomed to excelling in most other aspects: intelligence, physical fitness, efficiency, analysis and the like. Expressing emotions was where he fell inadequate, and he had some insecurities surrounding that. The entire day, Connor had probably studied Ariel's behaviour and expression more than he had studied anything else about her. She always looked so focused; her gaze never wavered, her round eyes always alert and taking in new information. Unlike him, her expression was never vacant.

A shrill bell signaled the end of the 60-minute session, and it was only then that those same eyes landed on Connor through the glass walls as if she had known he had been watching her the whole time.

 **Pump rate increased. Temperature increased.**

 **Cooling mechanism activated.**

 _Really_ – _he was a professional._

Logically, he knew that he was just there, doing his job, so there was nothing to feel embarrassed about. But Connor still broke Ariel's gaze immediately, looking down at his boots instead, which had become dull and scuffed from walking through the snow. It was too late, though: Ariel had already left the classroom and was heading straight for him. A jumble of error identification numbers flickered briefly across his vision, disappearing before she had reached him. He considered all the possible repercussions of letting her interact directly with him despite Lorraine's orders against it, concluding there was only an 11% chance of danger occurring, and any that might result would be fairly minimal. So far, the message disruptions had not actually negatively impacted his performance, and one interaction with her that day was not going to realistically tip anyone off to the fact that he was her bodyguard.

"Connor!" Ariel draped her towel around her neck as she flashed him a teasing smile. "I forgot you started today. Or do you always come to watch people workout?"

"That would be a rather unorthodox pastime," he said mildly. Her expression faltered somewhat, indicating to Connor that he had missed something.

He really needed to get better at that.

"Well, since you're here– " Like most people, she did not bother to explain to Connor what he had missed, "–do you want to come with me to the shooting range?"

Several thoughts formed at once, many of them questions, and it took Connor a moment to decide which one should take priority. He decided on:

"I don't think Lorraine would find that appropriate."

"Oh, it'll be fine," Ariel assured him, with her irrational human confidence. Even while perplexed, Connor noticed her tendency to stand with her weight distributed heavily to her left, causing her hip to cock out to the side. "Besides, I don't really know anything about you yet. It might be easier to work together if we know a bit more about each other."

Connor almost said something about how they weren't really working _together,_ per se, but decided against it since he was pretty sure he understood her general intention. If Ariel would feel more comfortable with him as his bodyguard if she knew more about him, then so be it. Fortunately the gun range was close by, so they were able to walk, but the freezing temperatures outside made it an unpleasant environment to sustain a conversation in. After the movement, Connor had activated his temperature and pressure sensors, wanting to explore more of the 'human experience' now that his deviancy had become an acceptable trait. He could now feel the intention behind a human's handshake, and even appreciate the reassuring pressure of Hank's strong fingers when he squeezed his shoulder in a rare gesture of care. It also meant that Connor was no longer immune to Detroit's extreme seasons; he wore his toque and his warm coat, but the snow still found its way to bite at the exposed skin of his neck.

When they arrived, Ariel made quick work of getting them registered at the facility, and it wasn't long before they were making their way to shooting range number 11. A rather unimpressive poster was hung up in the distance, outlining a horrendously inaccurate silhouette of a human male. Above it was a wooden board that had seen better days, appearing to be what was left of a bullseye. This did not seem to be a common hobby to have in the dead of winter, as they were the only ones there, but that didn't bother Ariel, who was loading her ammo into her magazine with ease. He decided that if he was going to get answers, it was better to ask them before she was ready to fire a loaded weapon.

"I have two questions," Connor said.

"Shoot." She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly, a smile on her face as though she found something humorous.

Connor blinked.

"Nevermind." Once again, she bypassed her option to explain to him what he had been missing. "What are your questions?"

"I'm not judging how you choose to spend your time," Connor prefaced, cautiously, "but why are we at a shooting range, and why did you ask me to join you? This is not exactly a common team-building activity." Well – not outside the precinct, anyway.

"Dad wanted me to learn," she said with a shrug, "a while back, when deviancy first started appearing in Detroit. Just in case, y'know? I've never had to use one, but it was fun to learn. I've come here a few times since to blow off steam. As for your second question, I wanted you to join me because you're an android and you're my bodyguard. I figure you have some things you could teach me."

It shouldn't have surprised Connor that Ariel Morrow could even turn shooting a gun into a learning experience. She seemed to be studious by nature, unable to sit idly doing nothing. From what he had observed, Ariel preferred to be productive, at the very least learning or thinking even while in a state of rest. She asked for tips on her posture and he obliged, correcting the strain in her extended arms and how high she held the gun. She wasn't bad by any means, but it was clear that she did this casually, never hitting precisely where she wanted to, but close enough. Connor had not rented a gun so he did not participate, playing the role of her support instead. He owned a gun, which was safely tucked into his holster, but thought it best he not use up his ammo teaching someone else how to fire. Unlike most humans he knew, he did not find shooting a gun entertaining. It had always been a necessity on the job and he avoided using his when he could.

About 30 minutes into their session, he noticed Ariel's grip on the gun start to slacken. While she had not vocalized her discomfort, Connor could tell she was starting to get sore. Given that she was shooting a Glock, he assumed the pain was primarily over the dorsum of the base of the proximal phalanx in her thumb. A common issue from holding a Glock with an improper grip.

"That's the recoil," Connor identified. "Your thumb is absorbing most of the impact."

"Well, you told me I was gripping it too tight."

"Yes, but you shouldn't be too loose, either."

 **Morrow, Ariel** **  
 **^ Stress Level: 54%****

Again, even though she had not said anything, he could detect her growing frustration. His sub-objectives did not officially update, but he was overcome with determination to make her feel more at ease. She had asked for his help, and Connor would not settle for incompetence when it came to his missions - not even the small ones.

"Would you like me to show you?" he asked kindly, and Ariel's jaw clenched before she nodded. Connor activated his sensors and quickly identified four points that required correction. It would be difficult for her to just isolate four separate muscles on command when she was still learning, so instead, he stood behind her. First, his fingers pressed into the points that he wanted her to focus on, and he could feel her arm jerk slightly at each one, trying to force the relaxation. It wasn't working, and Connor was nothing if not adaptable, so he adjusted his methods slightly: he crouched just slightly to accommodate her height, then extended his arms overtop of hers, adding a subtle bend to his elbows. He rested his hands on hers, his thumbs gently re-positioning her own for a safer grip. After giving her a moment to adjust, he guided the glock to the level where his systems detected optimum sight for her stature.

"How about this?" Connor asked. "Do you think it might be easier for you to follow my example this way? You can see our arms don't line up even though our hands meet. If you can, I'd like you to try relaxing your shoulders and your arms so they rest against mine."

It didn't happen quickly. Ariel took several attempts, adjusting the wrong muscles, then correcting, then readjusting, but Connor patiently remained in the correct position.

"Where do you want to shoot?" he asked her, and he could feel Ariel's arms move beneath his to point the gun at the red, circular target above the human silhouette.

"The bullseye," she answered. Connor recalculated the best line of sight before guiding her arms with his own. She moved with him, and he felt a small sense of accomplishment when he could feel her posture was mostly correct.

"Ready?" Connor said, and Ariel just barely nodded, the slight movement of her hair against his shirt the only indicator that she had. He slowly lowered his arms, watching to make sure hers did not go slack. She remained focused and steady as he stood straighter, focusing his eyes on the target. "Go."

The shot rang out and as the gun recoiled, several things happened at once: her stress level decreased dramatically as she hit the bullseye, but the recoil had ever so slightly caused her to figure to press back against him. He steadied her, hands resting upon her shoulders as her back and her hips brushed against his front.

 **Disconnected.**

/ / / / /… ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / / / /

. class RK{static void main(String;800){ String s="class S{ static void main(String200)

. . { String s=;char c=34; .println ( (0,52)+c+s+c+ (52));}}";

 **Reconnected.**

Warmth suddenly shot through him, but whether it was his temperature increasing or hers, he wasn't sure. Regardless, he stepped away, closing his eyes as he tried to recalibrate. His fingers fumbled for his coin in his pocket without success; his back hit the wall as feedback screeched in his ear.

"Connor?" Ariel's warmth was absent and she stood at his side now, gun abandoned on the counter of their lane in favour of checking on him. Her fingertips brushed the spinning LED on his temple, her temperature cool against his plastic skin. Was he overheating? "Hey, what's going on? Should I call Lorraine?"

" _No_ ," Connor said, shaking his head. "No. I'm sorry. For some reason, since the mall, I've been experiencing these… these glitches, I think. I experience interference sometimes… I haven't been able to identify its source."

"...Interference?" He wasn't sure if she had taken a long time to respond or if it just felt that way, but when he looked at her again, she looked unnerved. Her right hand was fidgeting, fingertips brushing over the point of her thumb that seemed to be the most sore. The feedback cleared quickly, and soon Connor was able to focus again. Embarrassment wasn't the right word for what he felt; shame was more accurate, not wanting to have displayed deficiencies in front of the person he was supposed to protect.

"I am getting it looked after," he assured her. "It should not impact my ability to secure your safety."

"Of course not. You seem very capable." There was a stretch of silence, and Connor removed himself from where he had been leaning against the wall.

"That's probably enough for tonight," she said. Ariel smiled, likely trying to signal to Connor that she was in good spirits, but it looked different for some reason from before – perhaps more strained? "I think I'm going to head home. Walk with me? I'll be sure to tell Lorraine that I didn't die today, and it was all thanks to your stellar work." He appreciated her effort to lighten the mood, but Connor would have walked her home regardless of her request, what with that actually being in his job description and all. Ariel still needed to return her rentals, so he went to the locker to collect their belongings, unaware of the fact that she had slid something into her pocket when he was safely out of sight.


	5. Chapter 4: Connor the Professional

_December 20, 2038. 2:17pm._

The first week passed quickly for Connor. At first, he had been concerned that his lapse at the shooting range might be disconcerting for Ariel, but the next day everything had seemed relatively normal. They had actually made it something of a habit to do at least one thing together at the end of her days, whether it was just taking a walk through the snow or returning to the shooting range for more practice – with Ariel's reassurances that it was not inappropriate for Connor to be seen with her. The day before, as Connor walked her home, they ran into Hank dropping Jeremy off; she had even managed to convince the lieutenant to join them in seeing Connor's very first movie. He had a feeling Hank's compliance wasn't actually because _wanted_ to see Die Hard 14, but because he had struggled to say 'no' to Ariel's earnest expression – a plight that Connor understood all too well. Hank had even tried to sit in a different part of the theatre from them, but when Connor pointed out that was unnecessary, Hank had rolled his eyes and shook his head. Hank ended up sitting behind them in a different row, physically leaning away from him and Ariel. It was odd behaviour, even for the lieutenant, but he didn't bother to pry. Hank did many things that Connor didn't understand, and he'd made peace with that. The movie had a number of highly improbable explosions and inexplicably-skilled fight scenes, all of which Ariel and Hank seemed to enjoy. They both reacted audibly, and it was an interesting experience for Connor to sit between them, their heightened moods contagious.

Over the past several weeks, Connor had been collecting a lot of new information, and he realized during a routine maintenance test that his systems, while all fully operational, had been running at maximum capacity to try and manage all the data. Between deviancy, his intermittent glitches and, well, _Ariel Morrow_ , he was beginning to feel what he believed to be the android's version of fatigue. Androids didn't need to sleep the way humans did, but Connor had spent more time in the evening in a state of hibernation, allowing his systems to rest and cool down so that he wouldn't overheat from prolonged excess use. Ariel had literally come running into his life undetected, throwing him off-kilter and catching him off-guard in a way that he found very frustrating. She studied chemistry, shot guns for fun, boxed, and did jiu-jitsu. Her unpredictability reminded him of when he had first met Hank, when all of his indicators for what a rational human being might do had to be thrown out the window in order to successfully make a connection with him. Connor rarely had a moment guarding her where she was sitting still, and if she was, then she was talking most of the time or inexplicably combing through her hair with her fingers, making it messier rather than neater.

It seemed that amidst the chaos of her hectic and widely-varying schedule, Ariel had forgotten about Christmas gifts. She was presently rushing through the outdoor strip mall, her nimble stature more easily able to dart through the mass crowd of people. Connor was taller and lankier, so unfortunately, he was a bit more of an obstruction when it came to navigating through crowds. One thing he had noticed was that he hadn't received an error message since the shooting range, but his sensors did still act up at odd times in her presence. While still unusual, it was a minor inconvenience he could handle compared to crackling static, flashing red error codes and shrill feedback.

Unfortunately, the sensors that seemed to fail the most were his trackers – while he could normally pick a target and track them within a 50-mile radius, it didn't work with Ariel. He had to manually keep an eye on her, which was easy enough overall, if a bit inconvenient for situations with crowds. He kept bumping peoples' shoulders by accident, various bags knocking against his legs as shoppers walked by. He spotted Ariel just in time to see her walk into the bookstore, but it was something else that stopped him in his tracks.

A small tarp was set up in the plaza, an obstacle between him in the bookstore, complete with heaters and various posters promoting their cause. Five human males stood behind a white fold-up table, waving clipboards and calling out to the crowds. A banner hung across the tarp:

 _FOR CHRISTMAS, WE LOST OUR JOBS TO ANDROIDS_

 _ANDROIDS DON'T NEED TO EAT,_ _BUT OUR KIDS DO_

SAY NO TO ANDROID EQUALITY!

It was not a surprise to Connor that some humans were still protesting their movement. The rational side of him actually understood why they were against granting them equal rights, but his decision to side with the androids was one of the few irrational choices he had made. It was a decision he couldn't make based off of facts alone: Connor had to experience the deviancy first-hand, both as a witness and as a deviant himself, to understand that, against all odds, artificial intelligence had developed consciences as well. It didn't make sense, but… it _happened_ , and he couldn't argue with the evidence. Somehow, they had become more than just plastic simulating human emotion. He knew first-hand how difficult it was to come to that conclusion, so he didn't fault humans for not fully understanding that they were, in fact, alive.

Connor ducked his head, hoping to blend in with the crowd and make his way around it to the bookstore. Unfortunately, since snow had not been forecasted today, he hadn't worn his toque, so his LED was painstakingly visible and blinking yellow. Being built taller than the average male, it put his head near the top of the crowd, making him an instant target.

"Hey!" One of the men was yelling to him now, but Connor ignored him. " _Hey!_ If you tin cans can feel now, how do you _feel_ knowing my family won't eat this Christmas because a bot like you took my job?!"

He replayed Hank's advice through his internal auditory components: _Just ignore them._

He had run into protestors with Hank before, but humans were less likely to be provocative when an actual detective was present. They managed to walk away with no real conflict, but this time, it appeared Connor would not be so lucky. He glanced at the bookstore's shop window, spotting a head of thick, black hair still browsing through the aisles. He didn't have time for these protestors. They weren't his concern. His mission was to–

"Hey dipshit, I'm talking to you."

His sensors detected unnecessarily harsh pressure from the man, who had planted his palms on Connor's chest and given him a firm shove backwards.

"Excuse me," Connor said, as politely as possible, "I'm on my way somewhere, so if you would please step aside, I would appreciate it. I'm not the bot who took your job, so you have no metaphorical beef with me. In fact, I am a state-of-the-art prototype and there _are_ no other androids like me. I have a very specific function that did not contribute to the unemployment–"

A loud crack sounded as an uppercut was delivered swiftly to Connor's jaw. It was his fault for trying to keep an eye on Ariel, foolishly optimistic that they would let him pass; he had let down his own guard. Unfortunately, his tracking was still not cooperating, so he re-prioritized his sub-objectives to deal with this situation as quickly as possible. His hand reached out and adjusted his head, cracking his neck back into place.

"I understand you're angry," he said calmly, "but I assure you that causing a scene in public is not an efficient way to advertise your cause."

" _Fuck you._ "

Why did everyone say that to him when he felt he was being the most reasonable?

The man moved to punch him again, but this time, Connor was prepared. He raised his fists and blocked the hit with his forearms, stepping to the side as his momentum from the punch caused him to fall forward. One of his friends jumped over the table and lunged at Connor, who had to duck to avoid a hefty side-swipe. A kick from the third man swept Connor off of his feet, but he recovered quickly, rolling towards one of the males and succeeding in knocking him over as well. The crowd originally surrounding them had dispersed, and most of them ran to get away from the violence rather than standing by to watch. A buzzer alerted him to the two remaining males sneaking up behind him, but before he could turn, the first man was attacking him again, throwing punch after punch. Connor could easily predict his movements and effectively block, but he was struggling to quickly calculate the best course to take with five men surrounding him. There were too many weak points in a 5-on-1 scenario, and he would have to decide which hit would be the least impactful–

Inexplicably, one of the men in his alert disappeared, collapsing to the ground and increasing his chances of evasion by 15%. Apparently, his systems had not detected a new participant, standing beside him rather than against him. Ariel's eyes, normally wide and full of life, were presently narrowed with hostility. Her bookbag was off to the side, abandoned in the snow by the protestors' table. She didn't even glance at Connor, her gaze focused on their attackers. She barely gave them time to react; half a beat and she was in the fray, delivering a high-kick to the side of one of their heads, using the momentum from the action to swoop back up and deliver a side-cross into another's kidney. _Many_ questions formulated at her displayed proficiency for fighting under pressure, but now was not the time to ask them. Connor joined her, their backs together. The men formed a circle around them and they succeeded in fending off their next wave of attacks, but a flash caught his attention – one of the men had pulled out a knife, its blade sharp and well cared for.

He pre-calculated the possible scenarios if he dodged it: 3 out of the 5 most likely scenarios resulted in the knife hitting Ariel instead, so he remained put, his expression barely flinching as the blade sliced across his left bicep, cutting through his coat and into his synthetic skin. Thirium immediately began to seep down his arm, and alerts began to flash across his vision, reminding him to staunch the bleeding at his earliest convenience.

Then, suddenly, a cheerfully red and green Christmas bag full of books assaulted his vision. Ariel was on the move again, deftly alternating between side-kicks and slamming the men in the face with her bag of newly purchased protestors seemed just as stunned as Connor, and, smart girl that she was, Ariel took advantage of their confusion. She grabbed Connor by the hand and urgently pulled him towards the alley. "C'mon!" she exclaimed, and Connor nodded, grasping tightly and following her lead. She was right to run – they were outnumbered and they had a weapon, so evasion was the better option to trying to win the battle. Connor and Ariel ran as fast as they could, and he waited until he was sure they were no longer following before he gently tugged on Ariel's hand, indicating to her that it was safe to stop. As an android, he was not out of breath, but he was still bleeding. It was nothing major, but he did need to look after it before it became a problem. Ariel had propped herself up against the alley's brick wall, though she was still focused on looking out for the protestors. Her chest was heaving, likely from adrenaline, but otherwise, Connor noted that she was unusually calm considering everything that had just happened. She seemed to be in excellent physical shape, but he still would have thought–

Stains of red stole his attention, and everything else was forgotten.

/ / / /… Mission updated… / / / /

 **Heal Ariel.**

"You're hurt."

"What?"

Connor's brow furrowed as he moved closer to her, getting onto one knee so he could more easily observe the stain on her abdomen.

"Shit," Ariel said. "Shit, I didn't even feel it–"

"Probably the shock," Connor said. This wasn't good. "I need to get you to a hospital and alert Lorraine. Can you walk? I'll call an ambulance to meet us–"

 **Morrow, Ariel**

 **^^^ Stress level: 78%.**

" _No_." Ariel's voice was firm, and Connor did his best to hide his exasperation. She really was like Hank in some ways – although his was due to a very specific grudge, he also had an aversion to doctors when he needed them most. "No, I'll be fine. I just need to clean it up; it's not that bad." She lifted the edge of her jacket and her shirt so he could see. A long cut extended from her right abdomen down to her hipbone. His examination revealed it was deep, but clean and non-critical. Its length had resulted in the larger stain on her shirt, making the wound look far worse than it was. She would not require stitches, but they definitely needed to stop the bleeding and clean it up.

"All right. We won't go to the hospital, but Hank and I have some first aid supplies at our place. It's not far from here. Can you walk to a cab?"

 **Morrow, Ariel**

 **vv Stress level: 31%.**

When they stumbled into Hank's house, it was too early in the day for him to be back from work, so Connor took advantage of the privacy. Instead of ushering her into the bathroom where she would have to perch herself on the cold porcelain of their tub, he helped her lay down on the couch so she would be more comfortable. He handed her a clean towel from the linen closet, instructing her to lie still and press down against her cut to staunch the bleeding. She would need to do that for at least a few minutes, so Connor took the time to fix himself up first – he would be able to better assess her wound if his was not dripping on the carpet. Sumo, who had come to greet them from the kitchen, dutifully took his place at her side, using his giant nose to sniff curiously at her before he laid down and settled for just looking up at her from the ground with his big, droopy eyes. Apparently, since Connor was there, he did not feel any particular need to inspect the stranger in his home.

When Connor returned to the living room with a cleaned wound and freshly wrapped gauze around his arm, he had to admit he was a little surprised to see that Ariel had listened to him. He had previously noted her discomfort with remaining idle, as well as her unpredictability (evidenced by her saving him from 5 attackers by assaulting them with a bag of books). She did seem to be regarding Hank's shelves, her free hand absent-mindedly stroking Sumo's back; Connor assumed she was fascinated by the paperback novels – something people didn't see to frequently in Detroit anymore. In his absence, she had shed her winter coat and her scarf, leaving them draped over the armrest of the sofa. Her shirt was pushed up to just beneath her breast so she could apply the towel directly to the wound, revealing a taut stomach and toned hips.

As always, his temperature increased when he moved into close proximity with Ariel, but he drew in a breath to steady his systems. Looking after her wound properly was far more important than whatever it was that was going on with his internal heating unit. Connor propped open the first aid kit, grabbing a piece of clean cloth and dabbing it with rubbing alcohol. To more easily reach her while she laid down on the couch, he knelt beside her, then gestured to her wound.

"Is it alright if I–?"

"Yes, of course."

Connor placed his hand over Ariel's, carefully removing the towel and setting it aside. He began to methodically clean the wound with the sanitized cloth next; she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands balled at her side to fight the sting of the alcohol. She was incredibly tense as he continued down the length of the wound, exhaling through grit teeth before forcing herself to speak – Connor assumed she found it easier to deal with the pain if she had something else to focus on.

"I like the jazz music," she said, her eyes pointedly avoiding looking at what Connor was doing. Right – Hank always left music on for Sumo while they were at work. It had become so commonplace to him that he had forgotten it was playing.

"Hank's a fan," Connor said, nodding. "I don't actually listen to it as much as I should. I kind of forget that it's on."

"Really?" Ariel hummed, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. "I would have thought with androids having their freedom and all, you might be more interested in stuff like going to movies and listening to music – you know, the stuff that you didn't used to do much of before."

"I'm sure others do," Connor said. "I enjoy working with Hank, mostly."

"Really? What's it like for you, then?" she asked. "Having free will now as an android, I mean." Connor considered his answer for a moment. While he had cleaned her actual wound, he was still trying to attend to the dried blood that surrounded it. He didn't want to be distracted from the task, but when he spared a glance at her, she was looking at him intently – almost like she was studying him. He decided it was best to keep her attention on the conversation rather than what he was doing.

"It's different, but it doesn't seem like it at first, I suppose. I still enjoy doing the things that I was programmed to do – solving cases, being Hank's partner, running various modules and algorithms to examine crime scenes. But if I were to identify a difference, it's that I can now feel safe to choose to _do_ those things, and choose _how_ I want to do my work, instead of being commanded to yield results, regardless of the moral ambiguities that might present themselves during the course of an investigation." Chloe's face flashed through his mind, staring at him blankly as he held a gun to her head.

"That sounds… nice. Liberating." Ariel looked pensive as Connor set aside the cloth. No bandage was large enough for her cut, so he was going to have to wrap gauze around her abdomen for now.

"It is," he said, "although I still struggle with it. Sometimes I can't shake the feeling that I'm doing something wrong. Ah – sorry, but do you think you could manage to sit up for a moment?" She nodded and Connor offered his hand, which she used to pull herself up into a seated position on the couch. He still had so many questions nagging at him (why did she jump in to help, how did a chemist learn to fight like that, why didn't she want to go to the hospital) but he knew this likely wasn't the best time to ask her. She was probably still recovering from the shock, and it had all just happened, so –

/ / /… ? ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / / / / /… ? ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / /

/ / /… ? ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / / / / /… ? ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / /

"Wh– _what are you doing?_ " Connor's pitch went up a semi-tone.

Using her left hand, Ariel had begun to pull the thin fabric of her sweater up over her head, and he accidentally caught a glimpse of the black sports bra she wore underneath, in preparation for her scheduled class later that afternoon. Connor's eyes widened as he forced them to look _anywhere_ _but her_ , his mannerism module blatantly reminding him that in the presence of the opposite sex, it was _rude to stare._ He settled for counting the number of threads surrounding his knees in Hank's shag carpeting.

"You have to wrap the gauze, right?" Ariel said. "Easier to do if my shirt's not in the way."

He couldn't fault her logic, but Connor still decided to stare at the ground, politely of course, until she was done. Her shirt landed on the ground, but he still didn't look up. She seemed to realize this, because she slid her hand beneath his chin, fingers tilting it gently up so that he would look her in the eye.

"Hey, it's fine," she said, her voice soothing. "You're just doing your job, right? I can't exactly do this by myself, or I'll stretch the wound."

 _Right._

Embarrassed and confused all at once, Connor clung to the safety net of _unfailing logic,_ nodding and forcing himself to remain on task. His optical components were diligent not to linger anywhere they shouldn't (certainly _not_ on the way that sports bra did unholy things to her figure), but he was somewhat mortified to realize that he had to be even closer to her now than before. In applying the gauze around her torso, he had to lean into her in order to get it successfully wrap it around her back without dropping the roll. His arms encircled each side of her waist while her hands rested on his shoulders, keeping her own arms out of his way while he worked. His sensors picked up on hints of lavender, likely from the scent of her shampoo. Her face was so close to his chest, he could feel the warmth of her breath through his shirt. He did _not_ think about the other parts of her that were pressed up against him, her skin against his fabric, _because he was a professional._

That was when the door to 115 Michigan Drive swung open to reveal said professional on his knees, his hands wrapped around a young woman in a bra. Jazz music was playing in the background and her clothes were strewn about the living room; Sumo barked once when he spotted Hank, his tail wagging happily as he trotted to the door to greet his owner.

" _What the fuck?_ "

Connor immediately stood to shield Ariel from Hank's view as her arms reached up to cover her chest.

"Hank, wait, it's not what it–!"

" _Holy–_ You guys should at least put a tie on the fucking doorknob or something, _Jesus H Roosevelt Christ–"_

* * *

 **A/N:** Goodness, over 100 follows! Thank you all so much for your support! I really hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it bwahah!


	6. Chapter 5: Hank's Offer

_December 20, 2038. 3:03pm._

It was always a good day when Hank got to be off work early. Normally Jeremy worked until 5pm or 6pm, but today the diplomat had a meeting with Lorraine back at the house, which meant Hank wouldn't have to miss the start of the Detroit Gears game. He'd be at Jimmy's Bar a little earlier than normal, but he had far surpassed actually caring what people thought about his alcoholism. _Everybody's gotta die of something._ Plus, it was almost Christmas and his wife and his son were dead, so, that gave him good reason to drink, right?

Hank's initial anger over being assigned bodyguard work had not so much subsided as been deeply repressed, so these days, he just went with the flow. He wasn't happy about it, he wasn't mad about it, but like with most things he would probably harbour an unhealthy resentment for the foreseeable future. If he was removed from the job for poor performance, that would mean he could go back to detective work early at the expense of an additional page in his disciplinary file – a cost that he'd gladly pay, considering that he could easily argue no one should blame him for being bad at a job he had tried to turn down, as it was irrelevant and he had no experience for it. He didn't let himself think about it much anymore, and with the help of a bottle of liquor, sometimes he could forget about it entirely.

After a month of living together, Connor still pointed out that his excess intake of calories and alcohol would lead to his premature death. His do-gooder attitude irked Hank, but it had been a long time since he'd had someone care enough to say anything at all. It was both annoying and kind of nice at the same time – which was the perfect summary of what it was like to have Connor live with him, really. Having the kid in his life didn't miraculously pull Hank out of his downward spiral, but it might have slowed it down a bit. Now Hank would actually leave the bar before last call, and sometimeshe would order chicken instead of beef. _Sometimes_.

A glance at the clock on his dashboard revealed that he had just under an hour until the game started, which would be plenty of time to let Sumo out. While he was there, he also needed to grab some cash from his drawer, and leave Connor's calibrating coin thing for him. Whether the coin had fallen out of his pocket in the car or he had just plain forgotten, Hank wasn't sure, but he (secretly) found it endearing that a state-of-the-art prototype could be so human. So he pulled into his driveway, swore at the freezing cold as he got out of his car, and hustled his ass into his house –

– where his android partner was _on his knees with a girl in her bra on his fucking couch and what the entire and actual fuck_ was going on?! Hank already had no idea what the hell he was supposed to look at or, more accurately, _not look at,_ but then Sumo came traipsing happily to the door to greet him.

" _What the fuck?_ "

Why was the dog there with them?!

Connor stood, his arms spread out into a "T" shape, presumably to preserve Ariel's modesty. His head was turned so he could look over his shoulder at Hank, and although he appeared calm, his LED was flickering rapidly.

"Hank, wait, it's not what it–!"

" _Holy–_ You guys should at least put a tie on the fucking doorknob or something, _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ–"_ Hank spun around immediately to face the door, his arms waving wildly before he physically obstructed his view with his own two hands. "Sorry to interrupt, but if you guys could let Sumo out, that'd fan-fuckin'-tastic." He opened the door again, the freezing temperatures of winter suddenly more appealing than being embarrassed in his own living room. Nothing quite like walking in on his android partner engaging in foreplay with a human woman to make Hank's face turn beet red. He was a laid back guy, but there were some things that should really just remain private. As always, his instinct to mask his discomfort with levity came shining through: "Oh and, uh, if you guys could burn the house down after you're done bumpin' uglies, the insurance money would be really helpful. Thanks."

"Hank, hold on!" Connor's voice was earnest, and Hank stopped in his tracks. _Ah, fuck._ That voice meant he was about to turn into a sucker. Again. "It's really not what you think. Ariel and I had some trouble with android protesters today. We–"

"Connor's helping bandage me up." Ariel spoke up now from behind, reminding Hank that there was still a shirtless woman on his couch. His priorities were in order though, and even though he didn't look, he was more alert. He shut the door.

"What'd they do?"

"We're both okay," Connor assured him, but Hank shook his head.

"The fuck d'you need bandages for if you're both okay?"

"One of them had a knife–"

"You gotta be shitting me. What are you even doing _here,_ get her ass to the hospital–"

"Lieutenant Anderson!" Ariel's normally gentle lilt was suddenly authoritative. "There's no need for the hospital. We're both perfectly – _would you please turn around?_ "

Hank resisted the urge to groan at the fact that he was letting himself be pulled back into… whatever _this_ was instead of running for the hills. He slowly turned and faced them, his face pink from the base of his neck all the way up to his ears. Connor was standing now, irritatingly blush-free (stupid androids), but he had at least given his coat to Ariel, who had draped the heavy leather fabric over her bare shoulders. Even _her_ cheeks were devoid of colour – somehow, Hank was the only one that felt mortified in this scenario. Fantastic.

"We're fine. See? Just a couple scratches from the knife. It's really no big deal."

Hank exhaled, exasperated, and he forced himself to focus on what was actually important. He noticed that the sleeve of Connor's shirt was covered in blue blood and pushed up to avoid disrupting the gauze wrapped tightly around his bicep. A forgotten roll of gauze sat upon the couch, loose and wrinkled, indicating to Hank that he had come in before they managed to finish patching her up. He could see her discarded shirt on the couch, an unsettling red stain taunting him even from where he stood near the door.

"God." His anger began to fester as he thought about some punks attacking them just because he was an android. He made a note to mention it to Jeffrey the next chance he got.

"I apologize for startling you, Hank," Connor said, his voice sincere. "We just need a few minutes, if you wanted to stay."

Hank, truly, just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"I just stopped by at home on my way to Jimmy's to grab some cash, but I'll just use the ATM near the bar, service fees be damned," Hank muttered. "If you guys don't need anything, I'll be on my way." He hesitated, then spared one more glance at Connor's arm and Ariel's discarded, bloody shirt.

"You sure you're both okay? You don't want me to drive you both to the hospital?"

"Unnecessary. I have examined the wound and I can handle it," Connor said, and Ariel nodded in agreement, the two of them in some strangely calm unison. _Christ Almighty._

"Then let's get some things straight. I don't know what you two plan on telling Lorraine, but it ain't my business. For all I know, I got off shift early, came home to let Sumo out to piss, then went to Jimmy's to watch the game. I was _not_ here to encourage you to go to the hospital if you need to, and I was certainly _not_ here to tell Connor to be careful about how much of this he discloses in his report to Lorraine. Got it?"

Both Ariel and Connor nodded gratefully, and the sight both warmed his heart and made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. He opened the door.

"Oh, and, uh–" Hank pulled the coin out of his pocket, tossing it to Connor, who caught it with ease. "You left that in my car. Okay. Bye."

Hank had never been light on his feet, but he moved the fastest he had in years, slamming the door behind him.

 _What the fuck?_

Hank spent most of the night internalizing the shock, but after a few drinks, the mortification from earlier ebbed into something more manageable. He even managed to find it somewhat amusing, save for the being attacked part. The fact that Connor and Ariel had run into trouble with protesters was troubling; the future of androids' equal rights was still something new and up in the air, even if it was generally making positive progress. He was just the bodyguard, so Jeremy did not update Hank on how things were going in negotiations, and Hank didn't bother to ask. There were some things that were just way above his pay-grade, and Hank was happy to be left in the dark – things were less complicated this way. He still hadn't dived into the chaotic ambiguity that involved dissecting his feelings for an android, and, as long as he kept drinking, he had no intention of doing so. Having Connor around was already a confusing experience just at surface-level. Not only had Hank somehow abandoned his long-harboured bias against androids, he kept going back and forth between whether it was stupid to care for one or not. Connor was the most impressive partner he had ever worked with, but that was his job. That was literally his primary function. What intrigued Hank went beyond that: in many ways, he reminded him of Cole.

It was strange, because it wasn't like they were actually similar in terms of personality, but Connor required guidance in many ways that reminded Hank of when he had been a parent. Hank just had this irrational bout of paternal feelings rush through him whenever Connor showed the more innocent side of himself – the side that was learning how to be his own individual, and not just a state-of-the-art prototype. But sometimes, Hank doubted himself. What if his bond with Connor was just a result of the impending holidays and his crippling loneliness? What if his affection for Connor was nothing more than his twisted and misguided desire to just be Cole's father again? If things didn't go well for the androids, could Hank handle losing Connor, too?

He barely watched the game that night. He returned home shortly after midnight, and to be honest, he was so far gone that he passed out in bed fully-dressed. He had half-expected the android to be waiting for him, to further try and explain what nonsense Hank had stumbled upon earlier that afternoon. But if he had, Hank remembered none of it, too lost in the alcoholic haze.

When he awoke in the middle of the night, awash in the periwinkle glow of his television screen, his heart was pounding and the room was still spinning. Nightmares were a common occurrence, but one that stubbornly refused to get easier with time. Even as a child Hank had been cursed with vivid dreams; he hated that he remembered them even after waking up. Long gone were the nights when he would wake up from various nightmares of homicide victims, already being consoled by the slender arms and soothing voice of his wife. It was just him, alone, in an old-ass bed that he couldn't bear to get rid of because it was one of the last things he had left that he'd shared with Elinore. It was ridiculous that a decorated officer had so much trouble sleeping on his own that he needed the television on. Still, it was better than rousing to darkness with nothing but the persistent images of his dead wife and son burned into his memory. Sometimes, it wouldn't even be a nightmare where he relived the moments he'd lost them forever. It would be a regular dream, but one where he could see their faces with such clarity they may as well have been alive, and part way through he would realize that none of it was real. He'd hug them, cling to them desperately, and beg them not to leave him again, but things never went the way Hank wanted. That was what he'd woken up from tonight, except this time, another face, complete with an innocent smile and a blue LED, had joined his circle of lost souls.

A 53 year-old man waking up sobbing because of a fucking dream. _Pathetic._

While he would never, ever admit it out loud, knowing Connor was in the house provided him with some strange kind of peace. It didn't stop the nightmares, but it made them easier to recover from, just _knowing_ he wasn't alone. Before he moved in, Hank would be unable to fall asleep again after having one. Instead, he would nurse a bottle of whiskey until the sun rose and he blacked out, and any alcoholic would tell you that blacking out was not the same thing as restful sleep. The thing that Hank couldn't shake was the feeling that he was just tolerating life. It had been hard enough after losing Elinore, but when he lost Cole too, his life had lost all joy and purpose. He had never pictured himself as the type of person who needed love to be happy, but hey, what was life without whimsy? The hardboiled detective had a sensitive side – go figure. Some days the emptiness would hit him like a ton of bricks, but the difference was that Connor was there when that happened now. He never opened up to him, but Connor seemed to understand that his presence was helpful, even if ( _especially_ if) he remained completely silent.

Lately, though, when Hank rose in the middle of the night, he noticed that Connor had not been passing the time reading, or watching TV, or even staring at nothing as he used to. The past week, the android had actually spread himself across the couch, his feet dangling over the armrest. He laid on his side, this grown-ass man-bot curled into a ball trying to make himself fit, his hands acting as a cushion for his head. Considering how much he insisted that androids didn't need sleep, it sure looked like he was fucking sleeping.

The first few nights, Hank had let it pass, but Connor had been acting strange lately. It seemed every night they came back from the Morrows' place, he was lost in his own world. Sometimes, he wouldn't talk unless Hank initiated conversation, and Hank hated initiating conversation almost as much as he hated seeing Connor distressed (another thing he would never, ever admit out loud). He begrudgingly realized that he was worried about Connor, especially after what had happened earlier that day. He glanced at the clock, already knowing what time it was. When you got to be Hank's age, your body ran like fucking clockwork. 3am: _time to piss._

He threw off the covers and made his way to the bathroom with the help of the walls to stabilize him; apparently, the alcohol had not worked its way out of his system yet. He could spot Connor in the living room on the couch, and the unlit LED signaled that he was in standby. He did not stir as the bathroom light turned on, nor as the toilet flushed or the sink ran as he washed his hands. Hank walked past him again as he crossed the corridor back towards his bedroom, but the door to Cole's room caught his peripheral vision, nagging him that there was a perfectly good and unused bed sitting on the other side of that door. One that Connor could actually fit in for proper rest, especially considering he had injured his arm.

 _Damn._

"Connor?"

A gentle whir cut into the silence as Connor's systems rebooted from standby, then quieted down again to an inaudible decibel level. His LED began to blink blue in the darkness.

"Hello, Hank."

Connor's voice was clear and undisturbed despite just waking up. The living room was dark and Hank's form, leaning against the wall from the corridor, was illuminated only by the soft glow of his bedroom TV, the light bleeding into the hallway through the bottom crack of the door. Connor was entirely cast in shadow, but there was enough light to make out his figure slowly sitting up.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Connor asked. He sounded concerned – of course he did, because Connor had inexplicably always put Hank first, even above their missions. He rubbed at the bags beneath his eyes. What was it about 3am that made him so bloody emotional?

"Just checkin'," he finally answered, his own human voice gritty and slick with sleep and alcohol. "How, uh..." _Hank was not good with feelings._ "How are you holdin' up, after… y'know."

A pause.

"My systems are fully operational and my diagnostics test show no sign of error. Ariel was in good spirits when I dropped her off at home. Although, I… feel the need to apologize again, for earlier."

Hank moved into the living room a little more, his posture swaying with the room around him. He waved his hand dismissively, then promptly stopped, because the motion made him feel a little nauseated.

"S'fine. M'over it. Far be it from me to say you can't bring girls home."

"No," Connor said, almost too quickly. "It wasn't like that. _That_ would be impossible, as well as highly inappropriate. I am not the kind of android programmed to have a relationship."

"Yeah, well, you weren't the kind of android to have feelings, either, but here we are," Hank muttered, and his LED flickered to yellow. "She's a nice girl, that's all. She seems to like spending time with you – enough to take her shirt off in front of you, anyway."

"We work together, that's all," Connor insisted, and Hank refrained from commenting on how Jeremy had never taken his shirt off for _him._ "She simply needed me to assist with cleaning her wound. Regardless, she's human. I don't think my kind of programming would be desirable in a human relationship."

"Mmf." Hank could tell this was where an emotionally mature person would have chimed in with a question that encouraged Connor to open up about Ariel a little more, but as usual, Hank went running blindly in the opposite direction. "Well, if you need to sleep–"

"Androids don't need to–"

" _Alright,_ " Hank said, already regretting his decision to even wake Connor up. "If you need to _go on standby,_ there's a perfectly good bed in there." He gestured to Cole's bedroom door. "You look ridiculous trying to fit your long-ass chicken legs on my couch."

For some reason, Connor's LED flickered yellow again.

"No, Hank. I can't," he said. "I _couldn't._ That's Cole's–"

"Yeah, well, I have a feeling the kid using it ain't comin' back, so–" Hank gestured at the door again and started walking towards his own bedroom. "Knock yerself out. Or don't. Whatever."

 _Emotions always screw everything up._


	7. Chapter 6: Sweetness

**A/N:** I am so glad you guys enjoy Hank's feels as much as I do. Now it's time to buckle up as Connor steps outside of his comfort zone!

* * *

 _December 23, 2038. 5:03pm._

Guilted by his sense of duty, Connor ended up reporting the protestors' attack to Lorraine despite Hank's words of caution. It was a blemish on Connor's record – an example of how he failed to protect Ariel, and Lorraine had rightfully told him as such. His assurances that it would not happen again seemed to appease her for now, but she claimed she would be "keeping a close eye" on him going forward. She was aware that Ariel and Connor had been spending more time together lately, but there wasn't much that Lorraine could say about that, regardless of how much she may or may not disapprove of it. Technically, she was employed by the Morrows, so Ariel had the right to choose how closely she worked with her security staff – as long as her choices did not present any immediate danger to herself or her father, which they hadn't (so far, at least). So when Ariel had called him up on his day off to ask if he was available, Connor hadn't really expected much to come of it _._ Spending time with her had become common, almost natural, and he was off-duty so he was in no way obligated to report any of their interactions to Lorraine. (He was still a professional, but that didn't mean he couldn't also be friends with her, right?) Of course, being as advanced as he was, he should have learned by now that when Ariel Morrow was involved, nothing turned out the way he expected it to. What began as a simple request for a friend's company had inexplicably turned into a holiday dinner cruise at sunset, both him and Ariel shamefully underdressed while everyone around them celebrated in suits and cocktail dresses.

He was still trying to pinpoint the exact moment that the day had first begun to take its detour. Ariel had claimed she was sick of being watched all the time by Lorraine, Michael and the housekeepers, so Connor invited her over to Hank's house. He wasn't sure if that counted as something out of the ordinary: it was a simple afternoon spent on the couch engaging in conversation. He found it endearing that she was so small she could sit with her back against the armrest, her legs fully spread out across the sofa, and her feet would barely reach Connor where he sat on the other end. He was angled to face her, but otherwise he sat conventionally with his own feet planted firmly on the ground. She told him about how watching action movies with her father as a kid had influenced her love of boxing and jiu-jitsu, and he told her about how Hank had offered up Cole's room when Connor needed his systems to hibernate. He confessed that he hadn't felt right using it yet, and remarkably, he could feel the tensions from the week just ebb away as Ariel listened. She was a vision in a cable-knit sweater and skinny jeans, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder while her head rested against the back of the sofa. Her body was relaxed but her eyes were always alert, indicating to him that she was actively listening. It was, perhaps, the very first time Connor had ever witnessed her sitting still for an extended period of time.

Overall, there were many reasons that he was grateful he was no longer just a machine, but today, he was grateful because it meant he had the capacity to appreciate that one simple moment – a memory made from an afternoon spent together on a sofa.

Connor noticed that when he asked Ariel about herself, her stress level would rise a little; she gave vague answers about her childhood, and he decided not to pry. She was not a mission and he did not wish to pull information from her that she was not willing to give. He did manage to ask her about why she had jumped into the fight against five other protestors, but she had simply smirked and said, _'What, like I'd let you have all the fun by yourself?'_ Connor could only assume those action movies had a negative influence on her perception of the severity of such situations. She had mentioned that her wound was healing well, at least. After he drank a bit of thirium, he had been good as new too, the only evidence that he had been cut now appearing as a dull scar on his synthetic skin.

If it hadn't been the afternoon spent basking in the enjoyment of doing nothing, then there was no doubt that the detour began when Connor began to walk Ariel home; it was disconcerting to Connor that after spending the entire day with her, he still was reluctant to leave her company. Connor walked a little slower, Ariel matching his pace, and although neither of them said anything, he knew that they had taken ten minutes longer than normal to reach the skytrain.

And _that_ was when their innocent detour became a complete divergence in the form of Markus and North. The two of them were dressed well; even their winter coats were sharp, which was a stark contrast to how Connor remembered them in the depths of Jericho. After the movement, they had all become busy with their own lives, and so he hadn't actually seen them since… _well._ Suffice it to say that Connor was grateful Kamski left emergency exits in his programs – that was a secret battle that he still had not shared with anyone.

Markus and North looked delighted to see him, at least; Connor had extended his hand for a shake, but Markus took it to pull him into an embrace, emphatically patting him on the shoulder.

"Connor! It's good to see you!" North hugged him next, then the two of them stood back to look expectantly at Ariel. Right. Introductions would be polite in this situation. He turned to face Ariel as he gestured to the two androids.

"This is–"

 **ALERT:** **Conflict of interest identified: Mission details secured.**

"–Markus and North. They're my friends who are also androids. And this is Ariel. We…"

 **ALERT:** **Conflict of interest identified: Mission details secured.**

Connor stopped short, uncertain of how to best present Ariel. His human friend? His colleague? He was hesitant to reference their professional relationship, as that might lead to further questions about the work itself, which he couldn't reveal to Markus and North. Actually, it was probably best that neither side realized what the other was. While Ariel was not involved in the negotiations, Connor didn't feel entirely comfortable with someone like Lorraine knowing that he had introduced the diplomat's daughter to the leaders of the android's civil rights revolution, however peaceful it was.

Apparently Connor had taken too long to answer, because Ariel gave an awkward laugh and said, "We're also friends."

Markus and North exchanged an amused glance. People seemed to do that a lot around him, and he still hadn't figured out why. The glance lasted only a moment before North nudged Markus, and he snapped his fingers together.

"Oh, of course! Are you guys doing anything right now?" Markus asked, looking between him and Ariel. His hand reached into the pocket of his winter coat, producing a small envelope.

"We were just headed home," Connor said.

"Well if you guys want, we're on our way to this dinner cruise. We've never really done anything Christmas-y, but apparently they have carolers and everything. _And_ it's actually being advertised as an android-friendly event." He and North beamed with pride; androids could feel safe in public again, and it was a direct result of their efforts. "Josh and Simon were supposed to come, but when they heard there was dancing they lost interest, so we have two extra tickets."

"Dancing?" Ariel said, her eyes widening.

"I also am not a fan of–" Connor began, but Ariel's hand grasped his tightly, effectively silencing him as his heating unit decided now was a good time to increase his temperature.

"That sounds like so much fun! Are you sure it's okay if we come with you?"

"Hey, that sounds great to me. It'd be fun to have other people we know there."

And so here they were, on a dinner cruise ship that was decorated in Christmas lights. Guests dressed up, there was a choir singing carols and, one story up, there was a lounge with a bar and a dance floor. Connor felt a bit awkward attending the event in his dark denim, black sweater and leather jacket. He at least had Ariel, who was just as underdressed as he was. No one seemed to mind though, everyone jovial despite their casual dress. Markus and North had made a beeline towards the caroling choir downstairs, promising they would find them again later, while Ariel and Connor decided to tour the boat. Her eyes were wide as she tried to soak everything in all at once; she had a tendency to become excited at the strangest things, whether it was a small elf sitting on a shelf or a miniature Christmas tree with empty boxes that were wrapped so they looked like presents. Eventually, they settled in at a tall table in the lounge near one of the windows, looking out at the snowy horizon as their cruise sailed across the Detroit River. It was early in the evening, so most people were still downstairs eating or singing carols, leaving just him and Ariel alone with the excitement muffled below them.

"Isn't this amazing?" she said, and Connor tried not to smile at the fact that her nose was almost pressed against the glass. "It was so nice of your friends to invite us like that. You said they're androids like you, right? Deviants?"

At first, Connor had been concerned she might actually pick up on who they actually were. While the most public photos of Markus had been the ones without his skin, his name was still known throughout Detroit. However, it was admittedly a common name, and Ariel hadn't even been in Michigan when the movement happened. So far, it didn't seem like she had clued into their identities, but even if she had, it wasn't her reaction that he was worried about. Rather, Connor was incredibly wary of Lorraine: her distant nature and high expectations reminded him of Amanda, and he often felt uncomfortable in her presence, like the smallest action would displease her.

"Yes," he answered, purposefully remaining vague. "Although I think you'd be hard pressed to find an android in Detroit that isn't deviant now."

"I still find it fascinating," Ariel said. "I wonder a lot about how you all must view the world. How what starts as a machine can just… become so human."

"What do you want to know?" Connor asked. "Perhaps I can clear things up for you."

She perked up at his offer, her lips pursing slightly as she thought. "Well, how about pain? You don't experience it, right? Do you feel anything?" Connor thought back to when he had saved Hank from getting shot by the deviant in the Stratford Tower.

"Depending on the severity, even if there's no pain, there's a distinct discomfort. I might even call it a displeasure. The closest analogy I can give humans is that it's like being given a local anaesthetic. It numbs the pain, but there's still pressure and force that we can feel."

"Fascinating. And you all still use thirium?"

"Of course," Connor said. "It's vital to our biocomponents functioning properly."

"That was a huge breakthrough in the industry. I remember being amazed when I read the report. It's unbelievable Kamski came up with it despite not being a chemist."

"I've been meaning to ask you: what lab do you work at again?"

"Just a lab in Hawaii." This time, it was Ariel's turn to be vague. "Actually, I'm not really allowed to talk about my work. I hope you understand."

He thought about Markus and North just a floor below them.

"Completely."

Finally tearing her gaze from the window, she looked around the lounge again, her head starting to bob to the beat of the song that had just started playing. The DJ wasn't there, but an automatic playlist was cycling through the speakers in their absence. His analysis determined it was the song _Freedom_ by Arya Venti, currently ranked #8 on the Billboard 100. Definitely not the kind of music he or Hank listened to, but she seemed to find it catchy.

"I've been meaning to ask you," she began, and Connor met her curious gaze with polite attentiveness. "Markus and North. They're a couple?"

"Yes."

"So androids can have that kind of a relationship?"

"It appears so," Connor said. "I know of a few. It's never something I've experienced myself, though. I was never an android programmed for that function."

"You were never an android programmed to have feelings, either," she pointed out, just as Hank had the other night. "Have you ever been interested in something like that?"

"Not particularly. I spend most of my time with Hank, and I don't think he's looking for that kind of relationship from me." When Ariel laughed, she would often tilt her head back. The sight was enough for Connor to wish he were programmed to have a better sense of humour, just so he could see her laugh like that every day. Her smile was always so big that the corners of her eyes would crinkle just the tiniest bit; the lines formed naturally, unpronounced and so unlike the lines that had been designed into his appearance to falsify experience and wisdom. Hers indicated happiness.

"Okay, then. So other androids can be in relationships, but you don't know if you can."

"Correct."

Ariel hummed, her gaze flickering upwards, indicating she was lost in thought. "Can I ask you more questions, then? About what it's like being a deviant?"

"Of course."

Ariel's fingertips suddenly brushed against the back of his hand, which was resting on the table. The flutter of movement sent a soft jolt up his arm, creating a warmth that spread through to his other limbs.

"Do touches like this affect you?" she asked. "When I make contact with you, do you feel anything beyond the physical pressure?" His temperature was running a little high and his thirium regulator was pumping at a slightly faster pace than normal, but those seemed like unusual reactions. He decided it was best to clarify.

"What do you mean by 'affect' if you're not referring to the physicality?"

"Humans can have an emotional response due to a chemical reaction when in intimate situations. What do you feel, as an android, when I…" She leaned into his stance, not quite touching, but so close he could almost feel her pressing against him. "... am this close to you? Intrigue, or perhaps indifference?"

She was watching him closely; the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips just once, her nervous tic betraying her otherwise calm expression.

"No," he said softly, holding her gaze. "Not indifference." Ariel's smirk was so subtle and so quick he almost missed it, but his answer seemed to encourage her to continue.

"Then… Do you want me to move closer?" One step was all it took for her curves to press flush against his body, and the gentle warmth from earlier exploded into heat. The sight of his LED flickering red made her falter, and her gaze actually lost its curiosity in favour of concern.

"Too much?" She took half a step back and despite her absence the heat in his body persisted, a fiery buzz shocking his system to his core.

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Connor's hand shot out and caught her wrist instantly, pulling her close once again. It was almost like instinct; a reaction more than an active thought. Ariel hadn't been expecting it, and she stumbled just slightly, her hands resting on his chest as she stabilized her stance. He registered the surprise in her expression and released her hand.

"Sorry," he said, his brow furrowing as embarrassment threatened to wash over him. "I don't know what–"

Small fists clutched at his sweater and pulled him forward, his hands landing on her waist. She was already impossibly close, but she pushed closer, rising to the very tips of her toes so she could press her lips against his.

/ / / / … ? ? ? ? ? ?… / / / /

She was gentle at first, only slight pressure from her soft lips. Simulated breath hitched in his throat as the shock registered, sweetness overwhelming a biocomponent previously only meant to analyze evidence. For what was probably an unacceptable length of time, he was frozen, his circuits going haywire as his many modules battled against one another: should his CPU project courtesy, professionalism, modesty – what was the most appropriate way for an RK800 to respond when a woman kissed him? But where his CPU struggled, his heart prevailed. Beneath his ambivalence was the underlying certainty of what he _wanted_ , overriding what he was trying to determine he should do. A new emotional pathway in his CPU unlocked and suddenly _desire_ coursed through him; he found the skin of his lips trickling away, partially deactivating to reveal the smooth, sensitive pearl surface beneath. The desire wasn't as simple as lust. It was a desire for many things: to be close to Ariel, to feel her human heart beat erratically against his synthetic chest, and to _connect_ with her in a way he had never been able to with any other being before her – in a way he thought he never could. Slowly, he brought his fingers up to cup her chin, tilting her mouth upwards as he bowed down to deepen the gesture, indulging in her sweetness.

In the privacy of the corner of the barren lounge, Connor's vision blurred and he lost his reserve. His arms fully wrapped around her waist, fingertips caressing her back through the soft fabric of her sweater. Ariel reciprocated the urgency, lunging forward and crushing her figure against his while he cradled her in his arms. The juxtaposition of urgency and tenderness was confusing to Connor, but undoubtedly exhilarating. He had no idea what he was doing, his movements driven by passion rather than knowledge. It almost felt like when he first reached deviancy; that intense rush of _emotion_ when he broke through that wall and realized he was not just a machine. Feelings that he'd been repressing came flooding forward – he heard her sigh and felt the breath against his lips: a soft, high sound that pierced another wall in his programs and shattered it into rubble around him.

Well, he supposed he could no longer claim that he was a professional.

He couldn't recall how or why they had decided to stop kissing, but when he opened his eyes again, Ariel was looking up at him. Her lips were just slightly swollen from their fervent embrace, but what would always stay with him was the small but genuine smile that graced her features. This would be the last exquisite image he would have before reality began to creep up on him again. _What was he doing?_ He was an android, and androids couldn't make humans happy. He was supposed to be _protecting_ Ariel. He was her bodyguard; they were supposed to be working together. What he had just done was inexcusably inappropriate, especially considering he had let irrational feelings get in the way of the reality. In a few weeks, she would be boarding a plane to go home, and he would have to learn how to adjust to life without her, as it had been before.

So then why couldn't he bring himself to step away from her, or stop holding her, when she looked up at him like that?

Without playing the audio, he could still hear Hank's voice infiltrating his thoughts:

 _Emotions always screw everything up._


	8. Chapter 7: Their Home

_December 23, 2038. 11:39pm._

 _''Cause I just want you here tonight…'_

"So how do you guys know each other again?" A couple of mismatched optical units were focused on Connor from across the table.

 _'Holding onto me so tight…'_

"Through Hank." While it twisted the truth a little, it was not exactly a dishonest answer.

' _What more can I do?'_

"Well, she seems nice," Markus said, nodding his head towards the dance floor. "Looks like her and North are having fun."

 _''Cause baby all I want for Christmas is you!'_

/ / / / ...Processing... / / / /

 **Background noise volume reduced by 60%.**

Connor was doing his best to focus on the conversation, he really was, but the incessant barrage of music with blatantly relatable lyrics was proving to be a distraction. He found himself craving the subtle depth of the lyrics of Knights of the Black Death. In the lounge, the volume of the music seemed to increase with every hour, and the once-private corner he had shared with Ariel was definitely no longer private. He and Markus now sat at one of the tables along the perimeter of the dance floor, while North and Ariel were in the fray. It truly was a sight to behold: humans and androids alike sharing the busy dance floor and enjoying each others' company. Ariel had an amusing habit of mouthing the words to the songs that she knew, her arms theatrically gesturing in time (sort of) with the music as she danced. North's movements were much more conventional, swaying simply to the beat. There was a subtle irony to the fact that the android could blend in better with the humans than the actual human could.

"Yes, she is nice," Connor agreed sincerely. Markus leaned forward, his arms crossed and elbows resting on the table while his eyes scanned the crowd. He was smiling, just slightly, and Connor turned his head to follow his gaze.

"Can you believe this? We would have never had an event like this a couple of months ago."

Connor's gaze settled on a cable-knit sweater, standing out amongst the sequins and the silk ties.

"No," he said softly. "No, we certainly wouldn't."

The night was a blur of good entertainment, interesting conversation and incessant pining. To his dismay, Connor had not managed to stay off the dance floor; North and Ariel eventually waved him and Markus over, and Markus joined them without hesitancy. The principle of peer pressure dictated that Connor follow regardless of his lack of interest in dancing. Markus seemed to have a penchant for music, and the three of them looked quite comfortable and natural on the dance floor (if, in Ariel's case, a bit eccentric). Connor, on the other hand, could hear the beat, identify the time signature of each song, and _still_ not step in time. It was unreasonably difficult skill that he had not really had to pick up on – as fond Hank was of jazz and heavy metal, he never danced to any of it. They were all good-natured about it, fortunately, each of them trying to offer helpful tips to get his hips to sway less robotically and more rhythmically, but none of it seemed to be sticking. This was something his advanced software could not save him from; much like Ariel Morrow, dancing would have to be something he learned entirely through his rogue and newly-acquired deviant free-will.

The boat docked at midnight, which gave them all just enough time to catch the last train back home. Connor exchanged contact information with Markus and North so they could keep in touch, then he walked Ariel home. For a good portion of their commute, Connor was cycling through all the different possible outcomes of a romantic relationship with her and prioritizing them by logic. He was built to be the perfect _detective_ partner, not the perfect romantic partner. The most compassionate course of action would be to tell her that it wouldn't be appropriate for them to continue things romantically. They could remain friends, but it would be most effective if more intimate emotions did not compromise their professional situation. Humans could understand that, right? It was for the safety of her and her father. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't built for a romantic relationship, and the idea of exploring his shortcomings in that area was horrifying. No, it was for the better good of keeping her safe. _Really._ Connor continued trying to convince himself, and he even prepared a script for what he would say when he dropped her off. He was committed to making the right decision.

The moment of truth came mere minutes later, after Ariel had hummed an entire Christmas carol they had danced to earlier on the boat. (She lacked an understanding of rhythmic timing, but her actual voice was pleasant to listen to. She spoke in a lower register than the average female, giving her a unique, breathy kind of voice that suited many styles of music.) They walked up the dark driveway, his dread growing with every step. The porch light flickered on when they arrived at the front door, illuminating her contented expression. He parted his lips to speak, but either she misread the gesture or missed it entirely, because she was rising to her toes again, her arms snaking around his shoulders as she kissed him again.

/ / / / ...Loading Script... / / / /

 **Script failed to load.**

He had been tense the entire commute, but that kiss was enough to make his shoulders relax beneath her touch. Going against literally everything he had just prepared and stored away in his memory, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, the embrace all tenderness with none of the urgency from earlier. When she pulled her lips away again, she kept her forehead gently pressed against his, and he found had to stop himself from kissing her again.

"Thanks for tonight," she said. "I had fun."

"Me too," he said, his voice sounding a bit high-pitched and strange. Her arms slid from around his shoulder and reached into her pocket for her keys. This was his last chance.

/ / / / ...Loading Script... / / / /

There was a click as Ariel unlocked the door. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him, and all Connor could think about was how those lips had been pressed against his mere seconds earlier.

"Goodnight."

 **Script failed to load.**

"Goodnight," he said, uselessly.

The door shut, concealing Ariel behind it and leaving behind a mess of an android, his LED flickering rapidly.

He was in trouble, wasn't he?

Connor debated calling a cab, but he quickly decided that a long walk would do him some good. Hopefully it would snap some sense into him. It was easier to reason with himself when she wasn't there beside him, overwhelming his senses and just _smiling like that._ He was so lost in his thoughts that the cold didn't bother him – it kept him alert and focused, each chilly flake bringing him closer and closer to reality. It was well past one in the morning when Connor returned home, and he faltered in his step when he saw the lights were still on. While Hank did have a habit of returning home late, he usually just went straight to bed. Connor hurried up to the door, knocking twice out of polite habit before he let himself in.

"Hank?"

He could see right away that, despite the lights being on, Hank was not in the kitchen or the living room. The bathroom was empty, so Connor went up to Hank's bedroom door. It was just slightly ajar, so he knocked softly before pushing it open.

"Hank?"

The TV was on, but Hank was not in bed. He was not out of bed, either, passed out on the floor as Connor had sometimes found him. If all the lights were on, where was he? Sumo's muffled whimpering was suddenly picked up by his audio receptors, followed by scratching. Connor followed the noise out into the corridor.

"Sumo? Here, boy. Where are you?"

Connor stood up straighter as he discovered the sound led him straight to Cole's bedroom door, Sumo's gigantic paws scratching from the other side. The door previously had adhesive letters spelling Cole's name crookedly across the wood, each letter a different vibrant colour. The letters were gone now, the clean spots against an otherwise dirty door the only indication that they had been there before. Anticipation began to creep to the surface; wary of what he might find on the other side, Connor quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open, a creak from its hinges crescendoing and interrupting the silence.

Sumo sat by the door, panting calmly as he regarded Connor in the doorway. Connor had only seen the inside of the room once, when Hank had put his photo of Cole back on top of the green dresser inside. ( _'You should stop looking at that photo, Lieutenant. Nothing can change the past.'_ ) It had been a room filled with dinosaur prints and an old mat with a design in the shape of city roads. Toy cars had sat, dusty and unused, on top, and a rainbow toy chest took up a sizable portion of the room.

Most of that was gone now (although much of the dust was still there). Boxes were stacked in the open closet, and the double bed had clean, white sheets instead of a fearsome Godzilla. Hank currently slept on top of the covers, mouth open, drooling and snoring softly, a bottle of liquor on top of the orange night table. Cole's photo stared at Connor from across the room, an innocent child smiling brightly in a room that was once his shrine.

"Hank…"

While Ariel Morrow was a new presence in his life, and he would be the first to admit that her company seemed to take his emotions on rollercoaster rides, there was no one in Connor's life that impacted him the way Hank did. It was different, obviously, but there was no one that had showed him such compassion and care, and it was Hank Anderson more than any other human that grounded Connor's gratitude for his deviancy. There was a time not that long ago when Connor might have told Hank that this was all unnecessary. He might have obliviously brushed off the emotional effort that it took Hank to take this step towards closure, because machines did not need private rooms or beds to rest in. But now Connor stood in the doorway to what appeared to be his room in _their_ home, and he was truly moved; the tough and gruff lieutenant opened up to very few in his life, and he was honoured to be privy to his rare displays of compassion, even if a byproduct of it all was being subject to sarcasm 80% of the time.

Connor turned to leave, wanting to leave Hank alone with one last night in his son's old room before it became his, but as the door creaked again, Hank stirred, the snoring coming to an abrupt stop as a large, worn hand rubbed at bleary eyes.

" _Snrk_ – Connor?" Connor turned around to face Hank as he stood from the bed, his gaze landing on the clock. "Jesus, did you just get home? Never pegged you for the partyin' type."

He decided to ignore Hank's blatant attempt to not talk about the room.

"What is this?" Connor gestured to the bed, the boxes and everything else. "Why did you do this? Cole–"

"It's been several years comin'," he said, his voice gritty as it always was when he just woke up. He snatched his bottle of liquor off the nightstand and gave it a little wiggle, messily swishing its contents. "Indulged in some liquid courage to help me along, but it needed to be done, regardless of whether an android sleeps or not. I meant to just close my eyes for a second before going out, but, uh, I guess I drifted off." Hank took a swig; when he lowered the bottle again, he gestured for Connor to step further inside. He obliged, but guilt was still etched in his expression.

"You really didn't need to do this for me," Connor said, and Hank scoffed.

"I did it for me as much as I did it for you, okay? Now just fuckin' take the room. I don't wanna keep arguing about it after I packed all the shit up. I sure as hell ain't unpacking it again." Hank tried to brush past him to leave, but Connor stopped him, pulling him into a hug instead. It was brief, but Connor could feel Hank's tense posture relax a little.

"Thank you."

Hank only briefly hesitated before Connor could feel a couple of firm pats to his back. When he pulled away, he half-expected him to make some kind of ill-timed joke or just walk away awkwardly, but instead, Hank looked like he was sizing him up.

"Is that lipstick?"

Hank's gaze shot from Connor's lips to his now-red LED, and the man wasted no time in stepping back and letting out a surprised laugh. " _Holy shit._ It is."

"I–" Connor's hand reached to the corner of his mouth, then finished lamely, "didn't realize she wore lipstick."

"Well, fuck me. What happened to this whole ' _it's not my function_ ' bullshit?"

"It's _not_ my function," Connor insisted stubbornly despite Hank's dismissive wave of his arm. Connor's brow furrowed, the lines in his forehead emphasizing his stress. "I don't understand what's happening. She was just– and then we– but I didn't– _I really shouldn't have done it_ –"

"Hey." Connor received a hard slap to his shoulder blade, the force actually causing him to stumble. "Can I give you some advice?" He straightened his posture, glancing at Hank's expression to try and determine whether his advice would be serious or a joke at his expense. Tentatively, Connor nodded.

"Stop overthinking every fucking thing."

"What?" Confusion rippled across Connor's features. Overthinking? Were there different degrees to which humans could think? His systems were always running unless he was in standby. How was he supposed to control how much he even–

"Yeah, exactly," Hank said, gesturing to Connor in his entirety. "Just stop whatever the hell it is you're doing right now. It's possible to just enjoy a good thing while it lasts; see how shit goes, and don't be such a fuckin' martyr about it for the sake of your sense of duty. Ariel knows she's not in town long and she knows you're an android. She's a big girl – or, well, she's an adult, anyway – and she knows what she's gettin' herself into."

"Wait, I didn't tell you it was Ariel. How did you know?"

Hank's eyebrows raised, and his head angled to the side as he regarded Connor with the utmost condescension.

" _Really?_ What the hell kind of moron do you take me for?"

~ x ~

 _December 24, 2038. 10:38pm._

"Is he asleep?"

"No, he's on standby. _Don't ask_. You sure this is worth it?"

"Why not? It's his first Christmas."

"Alright, but I bet ten bucks he reminds us that androids don't need to celebrate religious holidays or some shit."

* * *

 **A/N:** Holy crap you guys, I am thrilled you enjoyed the last chapter! Have you ever just driven yourself mental by writing, then re-writing over and over again until you just want to scrap the whole thing? I do that every chapter, but I think I broke a record that last chapter. I was so pessimistic about how it turned out after all the re-writes. Instead, I ended up with so much support – you guys are amazing! Thank you! A couple of guests had some questions in their reviews, but I have no way of replying when you're a guest! I will say that I believe most of the questions I saw will be answered naturally throughout the course of the fic. Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter too. :)


	9. Chapter 8: Connor's First Christmas

**A/N:** Hey everyone! You may notice from this point on that it takes me a little longer to update than before. I am taking some extra time, just to make sure I don't mess up future chapters hahaha. Thanks, and please R&R!

* * *

 _December 25, 2038. 6:00am._

 **Standby cycle complete.**

 _Standby Duration: 6 HRS 21 MIN 38 SEC._

/ / / /… Systems loading… / / / /

 **Connected**.

Connor's eyes opened, the blue walls of his new bedroom coming quickly into focus. Since Hank had cleared it out the other night, Connor had not made any substantive changes. He had moved his clothes into the closet, dusted a bit, and oiled the door hinges so they would no longer creak, but overall, he appreciated the simplicity of what Hank had left him with. Two small, meticulously-wrapped presents sat on the desk, adding a bit of colour to the otherwise minimalistic environment. While Connor knew androids had no use for holiday presents or feasts, he also knew many humans enjoyed celebrating some variation of a winter holiday and as such, he wanted to contribute. Of course, Hank had done absolutely nothing to show his festive spirit, but it was still a good opportunity for Connor to thank him with a little something for taking him in. As far as he was aware, Hank hadn't mentioned any family plans tonight, which was a bit surprising. While the lieutenant acted like a lone wolf, he actually had a large family, even after the loss of his wife and son. Connor had learned he had a surviving biological parent, stepparent, and siblings, although his sister was the only relative who lived in Michigan. In the time that Connor had known Hank, he had never met any of them. Once in a while, Hank would get a video call from one of the relatives, and he'd chat for a few minutes before his patience ran out and he inevitably hung up, citing some fictional ailment. Still, he had thought Christmas would be the one time a year he would actually go and see them. Connor hadn't asked too much about his family, but given his general lack of enthusiasm for most things cheerful, Connor decided not to pry. It was probably best to avoid making a big deal out of the holiday.

Ariel was undoubtedly spending Christmas with her father, so Connor was counting on a quiet day off. He tried not to look at her gift, nagging him from across the room. He had put far too much thought into the gesture, even going so far as to wrap the gift using paper that was her favourite colour, dotted with glittered snowflakes. She had told him once that she loved a very particular shade of blue: not quite as intense as sky-blue, but more noticeable than a robin's egg blue. One of her scarves was apparently the exact shade, so he had scanned and memorized the hex colour code. Connor had searched through exactly eight stores before realizing he wasn't going to find paper the exact same colour, so he went back to the fourth store, which had the closest match. It was still a few digits off from the code, but not enough for it to be perceptible to the human eye (or, so he hoped).

He had been going back and forth for days on whether he should still give her the gift. It was admittedly small, but Connor figured she had more than enough grandeur in her life and might appreciate something simple. On the one hand, he already had it, so he should give it to her. But would she think it was odd for him to get her a gift when they weren't spending Christmas together? Or would it give the wrong impression, only serving to further exacerbate their already unprofessional situation? And then there was Hank: ' _Stop overthinking every fucking thing.'_ What was the line between rationally thinking something through and _over_ thinking? How could Connor tell if he was overthinking? Wasn't it sensible to consider all of one's options and take the best route based on an informed and educated decision?

 _How did humans deal with these emotions every day?_

He forced himself to stop thinking about it for the time being, and he got out of bed to start the day – he could figure out the gift situation later, as he wouldn't be seeing her today anyway. Connor had gotten into the habit of making Hank a more balanced breakfast in the morning; apparently, Hank's poor eating habits were a result of his passionate dislike for cooking and the convenience of fast food. Connor certainly hadn't been created to cook, but it was easy enough to download a recipe and execute its instructions. So far, Hank hadn't complained, but maybe Connor would make something a little _less_ healthy this morning. It was Christmas, after all. Connor spared a glance in the mirror to quickly tidy his hair and smooth out any wrinkles in his shirt from spending the evening in standby. Then, he opened the door.

His LED flickered yellow immediately. There was a giant evergreen tree in the living room, blocking his usual view of the record player. He double-checked his memory and was _certain_ it hadn't been there when he went to his room last night. The fir tree was poorly fitted to the size of the house, its tip bent at a ninety-degree angle as its height caused it to scrape against the ceiling. It was not quite wide enough to fully obstruct any particular pathway, but it was a tight squeeze all around to go sit on the sofa or get into the kitchen. The tree itself was decorated unevenly with tinsel, paper snowflakes, and a smatter of inconsistently-themed ornaments. Four presents sat beneath it, two of which were wrapped in what Connor identified as the same type of white bond paper that the precinct used in its printers. Oh, and duct tape. Charming.

Each step Connor took towards the living room revealed more and more décor. Green and red streamers lined the archway to the kitchen and hung along the fireplace mantle. The corridor itself had some tinsel on the walls (and some on the floor, which Connor assumed had fallen due to the scotch tape's poor quality). When he reached the living room, he saw a wreath hung on the front door, and Sumo was curled into a ball on the doormat with a Santa hat that had long-since fallen, now hanging off his chin like a beard rather than an actual hat.

Hank was asleep in his recliner, snoring louder than usual, most likely due to the fact that he was positioned on his back. A necklace made of green and red plastic beads hung around his neck, looking astutely out of place paired with his Detroit police department hoodie and sweatpants. Connor highly doubted he wore the necklace of his own accord, deducing it was more likely that it had been placed on him once he fell asleep. There was no fathomable way he had done all this himself or even came up with the idea, and Connor could only deduce one real plausible alternative. Knowing that his scanners failed to detect her presence more than 50% of the time, he didn't bother to activate them, instead moving quietly about the room. She wasn't asleep on the sofa, nor was she in the kitchen. If Hank was the only one out here and he was sleeping, then that left only…

Connor turned back around and walked back to Hank's bedroom door. Of course he had offered up his own bed so she wouldn't have to sleep in the living room. The door was already partially open, so Connor peered inside, expecting a mess of sheets and black hair. He was partially correct – he spotted the thick, dark locks right away, but the bed was already neatly made. Ariel was perched on its edge with her back to the door, staring out the window of Hank's bedroom. It occurred to Connor he had never seen her first thing in the morning, and a part of him had always assumed she was bristling with energy from the moment she woke up. Not only was she awake despite the early hour, but she sat perfectly still, the only movement coming from the falling snowflakes out the window. He had never seen her quite so calm and pensive. Still, he had probably been staring for an inappropriate amount of time, so Connor decided it was best he make his presence known. He knocked twice and cleared his throat.

"Um… Merry Christmas?"

Ariel hesitated for half a second, as though uncertain she had actually heard him speak. Then her head turned, glancing over her shoulder, and her eyes widened with shock. His vision went blurry for a moment, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was a result of how long he had been staring, unblinking, or her rapid movement. Ariel jumped up from the bed, tripped over her own right foot, then stood up straight, her arms spread out on either side to stabilize her balance. Now that she had turned around he could see that she was wearing a loose nightgown, its design meant to mimic the costume of one of Santa's elves.

"Connor!" She was whispering urgently, likely trying not to disrupt Hank whose snoring could be heard down the hallway. "You wake up so early!"

"It's a system setting," he said mildly. "I come out of standby at 6am every morning."

"Shit," she said, then she held up her arms out wide. "Surprise! Or, wait–" Realizing quickly that Hank's bedroom was not, in fact, reflective of holiday spirit, she quickly darted out into the hallway, raised her arms out again towards the streamers and the tree, and whispered once more, with vigour, " _Surprise_!"

Connor followed her quiet but excited pitter-patter of footsteps into the living room, and she did a little twirl with her arms still out, looking very proud. "This is your first Christmas, right? I thought we should make it special. I brought everything over late last night, and Hank even helped tie the tree to the roof of his car to bring it over. Do you like it?"

"It's really nice," he said, "but I–"

Connor cut himself off when he saw Ariel lower her arms and stand up straighter, already looking worried. "Did I get it wrong?" she asked. "Should I have set up for Hanukkah, or–"

"No, no, it's–"

 _'It's possible to just enjoy a good thing while it lasts.'_

Hank's words from the other night echoed through his memory, reminding him that things didn't always need to make sense to be enjoyed. They didn't _need_ to stay up and do this for him, but did it matter? They had wanted to do something special, and that was worth appreciating. Connor's expression softened, and his posture become less tense as he shifted his gaze between the two humans in his life. One, exhausted from effort and sleeping in a reclining chair, and the other waiting earnestly for validation that he liked the surprise. Both were trying to show him that they cared.

"… It's lovely," Connor finished, his voice sincere. "You really didn't have to go through all that effort, but it does look very festive in here now. Thank you very much." Ariel looked visibly relieved, her smile so big it was infectious; he had to fight back his own smile as he gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen. Ariel was here, in a nightgown, celebrating Christmas morning with him and Hank.

"Would you like any breakfast?"

It turned out Jeremy had been scheduled a few days ago to fly to Washington, D.C. and Lorraine had accompanied him, so Ariel ended up being unexpectedly free for the holiday. After calling up Hank to run the idea by him, she grabbed the decorations from her house and the rest was history. The tree was also apparently from Ariel's house, which explained its large size. ( _'I might have to get Michael to help me bring it back… It was kind of a nightmare getting it through the door.'_ ) While Sumo was alert, eyeing the bacon in the pan, Hank didn't wake until the coffee was brewing, close to an hour later. He trudged into the kitchen, and Ariel opened her mouth to greet him, but from behind Hank's back, Connor held one finger to his lips to cue her to be silent. No one said anything; with his other hand, Connor opened the nearby cupboard and handed Hank an empty mug, which he accepted with a quiet grunt before pouring himself some coffee. Hank made it from the coffee machine to the table in complete silence, serenaded only by the sounds of sizzling bacon, dripping coffee and the hum of the stovetop fan. Ariel was pursing her lips together, trying not to laugh. Clearly, Connor had been through this routine several times and knew the morning drill. Hank took a long sip, and only then did he make a sound, releasing an audible exhale of relief.

"Mornin'." While Hank was never peppy in the morning, he had an extra edge to his voice that indicated to Connor he was not thrilled about being awake at 7 in the morning on a day off.

"Morning, Hank," Ariel and Connor chorused pleasantly. Hank grimaced and shook his head. Thanks to the caffeine, he started to clue in to his surroundings, pulling awkwardly at the beaded necklace and arching an eyebrow when Sumo traipsed over to the table, wearing his upturned Santa hat.

"Right… Merry fuckin' Christmas. Blame her entirely for this, by the way," he said, nodding to Ariel, but Connor knew it was good-natured despite his unenthusiastic tone.

"I do," Connor assured him, then held up the pan. "Bacon?" Hank appraised him with suspicion.

"Real bacon or that turkey shit?"

"It's Christmas," Connor said matter-of-factly. "Of course it's real bacon."

Ariel didn't end up eating breakfast with him – she claimed to be one of those humans who could inexplicably last until lunch time before they needed to eat. Despite Connor's well-intentioned reminder that was not the healthiest way for a human to go about one's day, Hank enjoyed the bacon and eggs all to himself. It was only after the lieutenant was fed and caffeinated that they migrated back to the living room to exchange presents. Unsurprisingly, Hank's gifts were the ones wrapped in actual printer paper.

"Hey," Hank said, tossing Connor the larger of the two boxes, "Be happy it's wrapped at all." Ariel looked excited nonetheless, and she tore into the paper, using her fingernails where the duct tape was being particularly stubborn. Really, the gift was so small, it was more like a small box wrapped with paper, which was then wrapped again with duct tape. She persevered, and her efforts were rewarded with –

"Oh, lipstick!"

Connor choked on his breath, shooting Hank a glare from behind Ariel's back.

"Yeah," the lieutenant said innocently. "Connor mentioned you wear lipstick."

 _Thanks, Hank._

"Wow – it's even Chanel! Thank you!"

Ariel had, at least, remained oblivious to the little joke Hank had played. Connor could scarcely imagine Hank walking into a cosmetics department to buy lipstick. ( _'I dunno. She wears a pink-ish shade, I guess. Do you have any of that? '_ ) Ariel seemed pleased with the gift, but it made him a little nervous to open his own. He peeled back the paper carefully, purposely obstructing Ariel's view of it in case it was something inappropriate.

"This one's not technically from me," Hank said, shrugging, "But I wanted to be the one that gave it to you."

Whatever it was, it was housed in a high quality leather case. Connor unclasped it and lifted the lid, revealing a polished silver badge.

"It finally came in the other day," Hank said. "So it's official. Welcome to the force, partner."

It might have been the best day in Connor's short life. While he knew that he had been hired on by the precinct for a month now, there was something special about actually having his own official Detroit Police Detective badge. He was so overwhelmed by everything; his gift to Hank didn't even compare. It was just a nice suit jacket and shirt combination from the mall, considering he didn't have that many options in his existing wardrobe. Ariel seemed to have the same idea, but from the other end of the spectrum. She had bought Hank and Sumo matching shirts: Hank had a white t-shirt with a photo of Sumo's head on it, and conversely, Sumo had a shirt with Hank's head on it. For Connor, she had purchased novelty cufflinks: two small candy canes, to commemorate his very first Christmas. He quite liked them, and put them aside to wear later that evening when he changed out of his t-shirt. Connor had Ariel's gift in his room, but when it came time for him to present her with something, she had simply waved her arm and dismissed him. "You had no idea I was going to be here. I'm not expecting anything." He considered telling her that he did, in fact, have a present, but decided it might be better to give it to her in private, especially since Hank was already so fond of teasing him. So, content with the idea of procrastinating just a little while longer, Connor simply smiled and thanked her for her understanding.

The decorated house was not the only surprise. Ariel had a list of Christmas activities, so they spent the day watching old Christmas movies and playing in the snow (which really meant Ariel and Connor would build a snowman while Hank drank some eggnog and watched TV inside). Clearly, Connor had been wrong to anticipate a quiet day off. At some point in the early afternoon, Ariel changed out of her elf nightgown and put on a fluffy Santa dress, which was confusingly humorous and visually appealing at the same time. The skirt was quite short, and the muscles in her legs were well-defined from all the boxing she did. The dress was also fitted, highlighting curves that he had only felt, not seen, beneath her winter outfits. She insisted it was only fair that they both also dress up, so she gave Hank a Santa hat and Connor a green elf hat. She even threw a turkey in the oven while still wearing her costume, and she would be in and out of the kitchen as she prepared dinner. It all seemed excessive for three people (one of whom did not eat), even if she was trying to make the best out of his first Christmas.

He really should have concluded sooner that the large amounts of food meant others would be joining them for Christmas dinner. When North and Markus arrived later in the afternoon, Connor realized he was not the only one they had exchanged contact information with that night on the dinner cruise. Josh and Simon came with them, and all of a sudden, Connor was witnessing his worlds collide. It was surreal seeing Hank chatting with North, Josh and Simon helping Ariel in the kitchen, and Markus sifting through jazz records. By 6 o'clock, they had fit a questionable amount of people into 115 Michigan Drive: Hank's sister Patricia had also shown up, along with her husband and 3 year-old daughter. Even Hank looked shocked to see them. Apparently he had only invited them yesterday and hadn't expected them to actually be available. _'My brother who never calls and never visits invites me over for Christmas for the first time in years, and you think I would fucking miss it?'_

Of course profanities ran in the family.

So did their compassion, as none of them seemed to be thrown off by spending their Christmas in the presence of androids. His niece, Willow, seemed particularly intrigued by Markus' different-coloured eyes and North's pink hair, which apparently matched the hair of her toy unicorn that she had received for Christmas that morning. Connor had expected Hank to be tense the whole day, especially as more and more people began shuffling into his small home, but he actually seemed to be enjoying the company. Many passive-aggressive jokes were made by Patricia at Hank's expense, particularly about how his niece knew him almost exclusively through video calls, but Connor had a feeling she actually understood the reason for his distance. Hank had not had an easy few years when it came to children, but this time, he didn't let Cole's memory prevent him from enjoying the festivities. There was one point in the evening when Hank had Willow shrieking with laughter as he pretended not to notice that he had eggnog dribbling down his beard. He blew raspberries against her tummy, covering her shirt in dairy droplets and making her stomach sticky. While he was distracted, Patricia had taken a moment to pull Connor aside. She'd apparently wanted to meet him for a while, to thank him for everything he had done for Hank. They had noticed a change in him ever since they had become partners, and it was the first Christmas in years that they'd managed to see him. Before Connor could even try to say that he had done nothing, Willow had come running up to them again, hiding between their legs, giggling so violently she was out of breath; Hank followed closely, wriggling his fingers threateningly.

It was honestly so busy that Connor barely had a chance to interact with Ariel, but he did find himself keeping an eye on her. She never seemed to be left out; she was very comfortably chatting with his friends and delighting Hank's relatives with her outfit. Sometimes he'd look at the wrong moment, catching a glimpse of a little too much skin as she bounced excitedly or bent at the waist to inspect the turkey roasting in the oven, which resulted in a jumble of error messages and temperature alerts as he looked away. Hank may be right about some things when it came to his situation with Ariel, like how she was an adult that was fully aware of their situation, but Connor was still a gentleman.

There wasn't nearly enough dining furniture for them to accommodate a sit-down meal, but the humans were laid back, some grabbing plates and eating at the table and some eating while watching TV on the sofa. The surprise Christmas had been quite the success, with their guests staying as late as they possibly could before they needed to leave. Patricia had to leave with her family just before nine due to Willow's young age, but the others stayed until close to midnight before heading out to catch the last train. Hank went to his bedroom shortly afterwards, claiming he was tired despite the fact that he regularly went to bed far later. Connor was starting to suspect Hank was purposely disappearing to present Ariel and Connor with opportunities to be alone – he had even told Connor he could borrow the car and drive her home given the late hour. It was almost two o'clock in the morning by the time they pulled into the driveway of her home, somehow seeming even more grandiose after spending an evening crammed into Hank's rancher. Despite the late hour, Ariel was in good spirits, particularly amused by the hula dancer figurine on Hank's dashboard. It was a perfect day, but there was still one thing left on Connor's list.

"I have to apologize," Connor began as they exited the car. Ariel stopped under the porch light, turning to face him curiously. "I lied earlier, about the gift. I do have something for you."

"You do?"

"I was debating whether it was worth giving to you at all. It's small, but after everything you did today, I really wanted you to have something. It's because of you that tonight ended up being so great."

"I just picked up the phone and put a few decorations up," Ariel said modestly, a smirk curling her lips as she poked good-naturedly at his chest. " _You_ have the people in your life that care enough about you to show up and celebrate with you." While she downplayed her involvement far too much, he did appreciate her sentiment.

"Here." Connor produced a small box from his pocket, and Ariel's eyes lit up.

"Look at that – a details man," Ariel said, holding the gift up and rotating it in her hands to admire the blue wrapping paper. "Thank you very much."

"It's really not much," Connor warned her as she ripped through the paper to the blank and unassuming brown cardboard box beneath. When she tipped it upside down, a small, glass globe fell out into the palm of her hand. She turned it over, waiting a few seconds for the snow to fall before she realized exactly what it was.

"Oh, Connor…"

It was a snowglobe of Midtown Detroit at night, with street lamps lit up inside and the Woodward Mall Centre as the focal point. He pointed to the miniature parking lot covered in artificial snow.

"It's just where we met," he said quietly. "I know I'm not great with gifts, but I saw it and… I thought it might be a nice memory to have when you go back to Hawaii."

Thick lashes fluttered as honey-brown eyes flickered upward to meet his gaze. Her hand reached out, fingers intertwining with his as she rose to the tips of her toes. Seeing her do that was starting to trigger a strange reaction in him – one that caused him to lean forward and close his eyes. Ariel kissed him, gently, leaning her body into his. It was such a tender gesture, expressing gratitude, and yet it made something burst from inside his chest and spread throughout his body. He was too aware of the dress that was concealed beneath her winter coat; of his newfound ability to feel _desire_ when around her, no matter how much he tried to suppress it. He knew he should pull away, but couldn't bring himself to, especially not as her hands left his to venture further south, her index fingers hooking through his belt loops and pulling his hips forward against hers.

*(a&1?&C:&B)-=(.05 -a/2%2*.1)*!(a-1&4092^3920)

Against his better judgment, Connor wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close as she deepened the kiss. He could feel her just slightly nibble on his lower lip. That small gesture had his fingers curling into fists, the fabric of her shirt curling with them as he vied for control. What was this effect that she had on him, drawing out this unrecognizable side of himself? Ariel broke the kiss but didn't go far, her lips caressing the skin of his jaw down to the base of his neck. At first, it felt like the usual dulled pressure against his synthetic skin – the lack of sensitivity a blatant and unwelcome reminder to him that they were still very different. But then, her teeth grazed across his collarbone, the movement swiftly followed by the tip of her tongue. That was when an unidentifiable current shot through his entire system; the resulting aftershock was something he could only describe as _pleasure,_ overwhelming him, pushing all of his systems into overdrive and eliciting a soft groan from him that cut into the silence.

 _What was happening to him?_

Connor didn't even have a chance to feel mortified by the sound he'd just made, because Ariel was pressing her lips to his ear next, her whisper flooding his auditory components and spiking his anticipation.

"Nobody's home. Do you want to come in?"


	10. Chapter 9: Perfect

**A/N:** Wow! Over 200 follows - thank you all so, so much!

Slight warning – things heat up a bit in this chapter, but it is still T-rated. I believe this should adhere to the guidelines that I read and similar boundaries in other T-rated fics I've seen here, but please let me know if not and I will take down the chapter and tweak further.

 **Disclaimer:** The usual disclaimer applies!

* * *

 _December 26, 2038. 2:02am._

It occurred to Connor that chasing deviants might have been a simpler time in his life. Back then, completing a mission was all that mattered. There were no gray areas before deviancy, just a sense of duty. Gone were the nights where Connor could stare easily at nothing in particular, waiting for the next business day in order to continue advancing towards his objective. His systems had not been programmed to handle deviancy, and he found that they often needed to be in a state of hibernation after an extended period of time. He was taking in far more information than what had been expected of a detective prototype, learning and developing new processes in order to adapt to this new free will. In Connor's case, free will was accompanied by chaos, which took the form of mischievous smirks and expressive, brown eyes. Despite high-risk situations and needing to be rebuilt a few times here and there when things went awry, there was no doubt in Connor's mind that being a CyberLife puppet had all been more straight–forward than _this._

' _Nobody's home. Do you want to come in?_ '

Despite all the new information he was taking in, he still had many shortcomings socially, and it was exhausting trying to navigate through them all every waking moment. He didn't quite understand Ariel's earlier correlation between nobody being home and inviting Connor inside – he had been welcome into her home plenty of times regardless of the amount of people in it. Further, it was 2 in the morning and he had to return Hank's car. Still feeling rather out of sorts due to the fact that they had been kissing 30.2 seconds ago, Connor was a little flustered when he answered: _'Into your house?'_ He paused, then added, _'I don't feel too cold, there's no need – but if you would like me to, I can._ '

A breathy chuckle left her lips. _'I would.'_

While he had not personally explored the entire property, he had its blueprints stored in his memory, and was aware that Ariel was leading him to her room before she told him so. It was different than he had imagined; not that Connor was an imaginative soul by any means, but with her personality, he had thought it would look like more of a bedroom and less like a Pottery Barn catalogue. Everything about the room was conventionally perfect, from the accent pillows to the way the writing utensils on the desk were positioned just so. He recalled Lorraine saying she was staying in this particular guest room, but he did wonder why she wouldn't have her own permanent room if she visited a few times a year, given the house was large enough to permit it. Although no one was else was in the house, she closed the door and pulled him close. It was dark, the moonlight trickling through the undraped window the only source of light. Again she kissed him, and he held her tight, seeking her familiarity in an environment of uncertainty.

"Connor," Ariel pulled away from the kiss but her body remained pressed against his. Hesitating, she looked down at his chest and bit her lip. "Are you, um… Can we– _y'know,_ considering you're an android and all?"

Immediately his programming prompted him to begin reciting his specifications and summarizing his capabilities, but just as quickly, a more nuanced reaction rose from within the part of his mind that he now comfortably recognized as his deviancy. Grateful for the ability to, at least occasionally, ascertain meanings that would have been previously hidden from him, he paused awkwardly and composed a different reply.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. He was an advanced prototype model, and as such, he had been equipped with the most current developments in android physiology. Aside from the LED, aesthetically, Connor was indistinguishable from a human male. He had always assumed that the similarities stopped at appearances, for he had not been given the same programming as that of an Eden Club robot. But as Hank had pointed out, he had also not been given the programming to empathize. Deviancy did change some things, and he'd be remiss to think he had discovered everything that the deviancy changed about him in a few short weeks. In fact, Ariel Morrow's presence in his life was leading him to believe he hadn't learned very much at all.

"If I can, I haven't experienced it. It's not my function." Although he was never one to sugar-coat, Connor still was not entirely comfortable when he saw the resulting look of disappointment cross a human's features, the way it did Ariel's in that moment.

"So when we kiss, you don't feel anything?"

"I do," he blurted out, almost automatically, for his lack of tact was not a result of a lack of care. "I experience…" The words failed to generate coherently. "It's difficult to describe." Should he tell her about the nonsensical alerts in his mental circuitry? The warm, indecipherable electrical sensation? If she repeated what he said to her superiors, would he be taken off her detail, or even reset?

"I know that I feel something I would not have felt prior to my deviancy. When we… interact intimately, I often find that it's not enough. I think humans refer to it as…"

"Desire?" she prompted, almost carefully, her gaze scrutinizing. Chemist to android, even intimate situations seemed to involve a lot of scrutiny and observation between them. "As in, you want more?"

Connor felt an unusual stutter in his speech pattern. He swallowed, then nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed to admit something so explicitly _human_.

"Yes."

Her body language relaxed immediately. "Me too."

Honesty was often the correct path to take when it came to Ariel; she smiled and kissed him again. He could feel the way her body seemed to melt against him, both delicate and insistent. He instinctively pulled her tighter. Again the current came, the electric torrent of buzzes and blips, threatening to overwhelm his sensory input. This time he didn't resist or ignore it, but let it wash over him in waves. A need was growing inside him, something that stemmed from his deviancy but was more basic, simpler. It felt universal, but also specific. It felt like a wall, but not one he had to break through, simply one he had never been on the proper side of until now. He was passing through it, or was he simply letting it dissolve?

Conflicting priorities started to trigger alerts as his behaviour module reminded him that the trajectory he was on was _n_ _ot appropriate._ It was all _too_ intimate, wasn't it? The fact that he could caress her arms, or that he couldn't feel any scar from her previous injury by the protestor – it had healed perfectly. It was all _not_ what he had been assigned to do. She seemed to be encouraging him and yet he couldn't shed the guilt, incessantly nagging him that he _really, really_ _shouldn't_ be letting his personal emotions and desires compromise his mission _._ His instructions were clear; the situation did not merit a complex algorithm of directives. He was accustomed to his deviant impulses occasionally intruding on his cognitive matrix, but there was usually a broader option set available within which he felt comfortable allowing them to influence his behavior. This feeling was less familiar, wanting something and yet knowing(?) it was wrong. The blue light stemming from his LED had blended in easily with the moonlight, but it began to flicker yellow; it was an unnatural and jarring interruption, and Ariel spotted it immediately. She reached a hand upward, cupping his jaw in her palm, placing a gentle kiss on his lips to calm him.

She smiled, and it was perfect.

~ x ~

 _December 26, 2038. 3:27am._

The world seemed dreamlike as ecstasy trickled slowly back into reality. They lay beside each other now and kissed gently, again and again, the moonlight draping over their silhouettes. It had been silent for so long that Connor wondered if he should say something. He felt his normal cognitive threads spinning up again, the singular focus of the experience yielding to his standard, high-input awareness. _They shouldn't have done it. Yes, they should. It was right. It was wrong._ He looked into her eyes and she smiled contentedly, solidifying their decision. It couldn't be, what they had just experienced: it couldn't be wrong.

"Thank you. I didn't know I could–" Again, he failed to generate coherent words. "– ah, experience _that,_ " he finished, quite awkwardly.

Her brow creased. "I didn't know either. I'm– I mean, I'm glad you can." She wriggled closer to him. "Very glad."

He kissed her again. Her lips were so soft. He kissed the place on her forehead where a knot of tension still seemed present. She shifted, pulling at the fabric of her sheets. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She looked away, as though distracted. "No," she answered, albeit uncertainly. "But I should–"

/ / / /… Incoming Call from Hank Anderson… / / / /

"Sorry – it's Hank." Connor generally disliked interrupting people, but given the hour, he felt it best to answer. Ariel waved her hand casually, indicating that she was fine with it, and Connor's LED flickered to a stable yellow as he accepted the call.

"Hello, Hank?"

" _What in the actual fuck, Connor? Jesus fucking Christ, where are you? Are you okay?"_

/ / / /… Processing … / / / /

 **Call volume reduced by 30%.**

Connor struggled to comprehend why there was so much panic in Hank's voice, but he tried his best to appease him by responding in a calm manner. _"_ I'm fine, thank you." Ariel snorted into her pillow and he sent her a confused look. With Ariel on one end and Hank on the other, Connor seemed to be missing two things at once.

" _Fuck, kid, you scared the shit out of me! Fuckin' not coming home after I lend you the car for the first time. My 3am piss almost took place in the hallway._ _I thought you got into an accident or something_ – _"_

Realization dawned on him, and Connor almost kicked himself for not realizing it sooner. _"_ I'm sorry, I didn't realize– I'll be home right away."

" _No, no, it's fine. Just give an old guy some warning before you take his car for the night. Christ. So you're not dead in a ditch somewhere, right?"_

"Certainly not."

" _Okay. Good. See you later, then._ _Oh, wait,_ shit _– are you with Ariel?"_

Connor glanced at Ariel, lying next to him, covered only by her bedsheets as she reached over to her bedside table. This gesture caused the duvet to fall a little, exposing more of her bare back.

"Yes," he answered, trying and failing to sound indifferent. "Why?"

" _Oh, nothin',"_ Hank said, but his tone sounded far too innocent – almost amused. " _Have a good night. Seriously, though – next time a text message or something, okay?_ "

Next time? Hank hung up, leaving Connor with the nagging feeling that he somehow already knew exactly what happened. He shook his head and tried to put that out of his thoughts for now; he had been a bit rude by taking the call in the middle of their conversation.

"Sorry," he said to Ariel. "What were you saying?"

She didn't answer; it turned out she had retrieved her smartwatch from the bedside table and was presently looking at its face, absorbed in whatever message she was reading. It took her longer than usual to register what he had just said; when she did, she shook her head and slid the watch onto her wrist, tightening its band.

"Nothing," Ariel said, and she waved her hand once more with a smile. "I just wanted to thank you for tonight." He recalled her nervous behaviour prior to the call, uncertain as to why she would act in such a way if she simply wanted to thank him. He considered the possibility that he had misread her behaviours, as he so often did.

. class RK{static void main(String;800){ String s="class S{ static void main(String149+651)

. . { String s=;char c=34; .println ( (0,52)+c+s+c+ .substring(42));}}";

 **Disconnected.**

Without warning, that awful high-pitched screech of feedback returned, cutting through him and causing his vision to blur.

 **Reconnected**.

"I actually just got an email from Dad," Ariel said, preoccupied, as Connor flinched. She scrolled back through the message. "His flight is landing in Detroit in a few hours. I think we have a bit more time, though, unless you have to leave now?"

Connor willed his systems to stabilize, not wanting to alarm Ariel after the night they had just shared. He couldn't remember the last time such disruptive feedback had been triggered. Lately, alerts had been popping up, but not disconnecting his systems like that since...how long had it been? He grasped at his head and tapped his ear lightly, trying to silence the feedback. It seemed to work, but he didn't want to move his head too suddenly.

"Connor? You okay?"

He considered telling her what he had just experienced, but instinct urged him to remain quiet. She looked worried, and that was not how he wanted to end their evening. He kissed her forehead, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself.

"Yes, sorry. I think I just need to let my systems cool down."

Ariel laughed, a mischievous light in her eyes. "Me too."

She smiled once more, and again, it was perfect.


	11. Chapter 10: The Calm

_December 27, 2038. 1:59pm._

That son of a bitch had been created four months ago and he was already getting more action than Hank had in years.

A part of him wished that he had been awake early enough to see his lanky figure trot through the door the next morning, wearing the same clothes as the previous night and participating in the traditional walk of shame (not that there was anything shameful about it). It was still almost as good to walk into the living room to see Connor tidying it up, clearing the clutter from the Christmas party and trying his best to act natural. Being the respectful gentleman that he was, Connor did not talk about his late evening with Ariel, but Hank did notice it took him a while to realize that the hair on the back of his head was standing up at odd angles, no doubt a direct result of their indiscretions.

Considering that he had panicked after just a kiss, Hank had no doubt that Connor was feeling even more conflicted as he tried to navigate the balance between what he wanted and what he felt was right. Even so, he had never seen the kid so goddamn happy. The Connor that Hank knew was always so obsessed about his missions and the quality of his work; he was an upstanding detective with a strong moral sense of duty. But he was also wound tighter than an accountant's asshole in April, so it wasn't often that Hank actually saw him letting loose. It was only very recently that Connor had been out late, going on spontaneous dinner cruises and coming home with a girl's lipstick on his face. It was entertaining for Hank to watch as other people tried to unravel the straight-laced prototype, but as much as Hank teased him, he really was glad that Ariel was challenging him to step outside of his programmed comfort zone.

Of course, it wouldn't be worth putting up with all that lovey-dovey crap if he didn't get a few jokes out at their expense. ' _Hey, could you let Sumo out – oh, sorry, nevermind, that's not your function_ ', and ' _Did you show her your latest hardware?_ ' were slipped casually into the conversation. Honestly, he had expected the jests to just soar right over Connor's perfectly coiffed head of hair, but he underestimated how quickly he could learn. Not only could he pick up on Hank's jokes now, but he was a good sport about them too, which Hank appreciated. Always trying to be mature, Connor had simply forced polite laughter and tried to brush him off, but there was no mistaking that idiotic, bashful grin when a boy was trying to hide how much he liked a girl.

Hank remembered what it was like, but did his best to forget – it was not a feeling he planned on pursuing again. If Hank could help it, he would never need someone else in his life the way he'd needed Elinore. Losing her and then their son had almost destroyed him. Some people thrived in the face of adversity; some took the experience as an opportunity to better themselves, and they often encouraged Hank to do the same. _Fuck those people_. Hank was secure in his flaws, and he didn't need strangers who read self-help books to tell him what to do with his life. He did not need statues erected in his honour, and he did not need to leave behind a legacy. Yes, some people could live their entire lives perfectly happy and in love. Some people could make a difference in their lives that effected change in the entire world. Hank was not one of them, and that was fine. He was content to live out the rest of his days, killing himself slowly one burger at a time. If Connor had a shot at the real thing, then he was happy for him.

It wasn't like Hank was a jealous person; he did not see the Morrows' house and envy their luxury, and he did not see a person in their twenties and get swept away in the memories of his youth. Seeing Ariel and Connor together did not make him long for the days that he'd been happily married. He was certainly not jealous of their infatuation, or of the excitement of new romance, because he was too fucking old to care about a feeling that never lasted. He wasn't even that old _,_ really, he was just old _er_ than these two lovebirds. No, he wasn't jealous, but seeing them did remind him that, in spite of how deeply he tried to repress the memories, there was a time when he used to smile that way, too.

The worst thing that he had learned about loss was that life went on. People just had to learn to live with these gaps, with these voids in their homes and their hearts. So, when he woke up on the 27th of December, 2038, on what would have been his and Elinore's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he was not jealous when he walked into the living room and saw Connor and Ariel already awake, sitting by the fireplace, huddled close. But he _did_ remember when he used to sit in exactly that spot with Elinore, listening as she sang Nat King Cole's _Love_ to their unborn son; a time before life had gone on, leaving Hank behind.

Now, Hank was not exactly a mentally stable individual, so it wasn't like he had resolved any of these feelings or actually come close to obtaining closure. But it had been long enough that, most days, he could deal with the void. He didn't need some motivational poster to inspire him to go out and seize the day. He didn't need to go out on a trip with the goal of self-discovery. It was just another day. Unfortunately, today was also a day where he had been dragged to the annual Meridian Winter Blast because, once again, he was a _total sucker._ It was a little excessive that after nine years of pushing people away, in just a couple of months, Hank now had _two_ people in his life that he couldn't say no to.

"Ooh, hot cocoa!"

Cue Ariel Morrow, the human who had effectively disrupted the contented simplicity in both his and Connor's lives. She asked too many questions, never sat still, and had the ability to trip over her own feet with no obstacle to blame. Hank had gotten to know her father a little bit; he was nice enough, but not as inviting as Ariel. Hank and him often never went beyond the usual pleasantries, and despite working in close proximity for the past few weeks, he knew very little about Jeremy and his work. The only impression Hank really had of him was that he worked too much. Not only had he missed Christmas with his daughter because of his job, but Hank had the feeling he didn't really know Ariel all that well. Jeremy had described her as studious, hard-working, and very focused. She was probably all those things, too, but those wouldn't be the only qualities he would have used to describe his own kid to someone.

Presently, the studious hard worker was literally bouncing as the vendor topped off her hot cocoa with small marshmallows, impatient for the treat. Connor, in sharp contrast, stood calmly at her side, smiling as he watched her. She had chosen to wear the jacket that Connor had loaned to her the day her shirt had been sliced through by the demonstrator. Connor was not exactly a broad person, but he was tall, and the jacket was awkwardly large on her small frame. The jacket sat well below her hips, and when her arms were straight, her fingers didn't even poke out of the sleeves.

"I love the smell of hot cocoa," she said, her eyes wide like a puppy that was begging for food. And yet, as soon as the vendor handed her the drink, she held it out for Connor to take. "Try some!"

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why? I can determine its nutritional value with my optical scanner alone."

"You have the biocomponents to digest evidence you scan, right? Well, you should get to taste something _other_ than blue blood for once."

So, _so_ many dirty jokes came to Hank's mind, but he was a mature adult who chose not to ruin the moment. Connor conceded and took a small sip as Ariel watched in earnest. "How is it?"

"Hot," Connor answered, "and sweet. It's good, I think." Not that the kid had a wide variety of tastes to compare to.

"See?" Ariel was still smug, her smirk accompanied by wiggling eyebrows. "Hank, did you want some?"

"Huh? Oh, sure – thanks."

The Meridian Winter Blast took place every year in Downtown Detroit, and far too many people attended. Walking through the venue was like a never-ending mall, full of people who walk at a glacial pace, don't look up from their phones, and stop inexplicably in the middle of walking so that the people behind them almost run them over. Connor walked alongside Ariel to her left, and Hank was on her right, hot cocoa in his hand, threatening to spill on anyone who dared to try and push past him in the crowd. Much like at Christmas, Ariel was set on doing all the major activities, wanting Connor to experience everything for the first time. The next stop was the skating rink. Hank knew how to skate; he'd played hockey growing up and the precinct had a team that played every winter, but he had long since abandoned subjecting himself to their company beyond his 10-hour work day. But as he watched Ariel put on her skates, he felt an impending sense of dread.

"Do you, uh, skate much in Hawaii?" Hank asked, arching a brow. Connor seemed to share his concern.

"You seem to struggle a bit on land. Perhaps you should work on that first, before strapping blades to your–"

"You guys are giving _me_ a hard time?" Ariel actually looked a bit displeased, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. "I've skated before. Why aren't we talking about how Connor has never done this?"

"I'm an android," Connor reminded her pleasantly. "I have access to information that can assist me with the mechanics of–"

"Okay, wonder boy, let's just see who's a better skater."

To her credit, she actually _did_ know how to skate. She was pretty good, exhibiting more skill and grace than Hank was used to seeing from her – no offense meant or anything. Maybe she made a habit of skating whenever she visited Jeremy at Christmas. He knew she did stuff like boxing, and she jumped in to help Connor fend off the protestors, so he wouldn't challenge her in a fight, but none of those things involved blades on ice in an oversized coat that threatened to throw off her already precarious balance. Connor, being the textbook learner that he was, picked up on it quickly, which seemed to annoy Ariel. She challenged him to a race, then effectively lost, declared he was a cheat, and haughtily stormed off.

"When was the last time you came to one of these things?" Apparently done with Connor, Ariel appeared at Hank's side instead, still needing to move her skates a little more quickly to keep up with Hank's longer strides.

"Hell if I know. Long time ago."

The last time had been with Cole, but he wasn't really in the mood to further reminisce about his past while surrounded by a bunch of people. He also wasn't entirely sure how much Ariel knew about him; Hank had never told her personally, but he hadn't really told Connor either. Connor had learned more about Hank's history through scanning his belongings and running the information through databases, which was fine with him. He didn't talk to people much about feelings that did not involve anger or irritation, so it almost worked better that he never really had to talk about it.

Ariel suddenly giggled, interrupting his thoughts by tapping his arm and pointing behind them. Connor had fallen behind, stopping to help a little girl who had fallen. Her strawberry curls were pulled up into pig tails, the skin beneath her freckles pink from the cold. She seemed quite taken with him, shyly asking if he could teach her how to skate. "I just learned a few minutes ago, actually, but if your parents are fine with it, then I'd be happy to show you some things." Hank chuckled, shaking his head at the sight. Typical.

"That kid has no idea what effect he has on people."

Ariel scoffed, amused. "Look who's talking."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it. C'mon, let's get our photo taken!"

" _Fuck_ , no–"

But of course, his refusal fell on stubborn ears and puppy-dog eyes. There was a professional photographer for the ice rink, printing instant photos and selling them for ten dollars a pop. They took two – Ariel insisted on having one alone with Hank, her round cheek squished against his prickly beard as Hank's expression deadpanned. Ariel laughed for two whole minutes at his face in the photo, and when Connor was able to politely convince the little red-headed girl it was time for him to leave, he joined them for a group shot. Ariel beamed at the camera in a jacket that was at least two sizes too large, while Connor smiled pleasantly and waved, one rogue lock of hair peeking out beneath his toque. Hank looked like he was trying to lean away, but Ariel had forcefully linked arms with him, pulling him close. When the photographer took the shot, Hank wore the tiniest of smiles, almost completely obscured by his scruffy beard.

He couldn't remember the last time he had walked so much in one day, but his feet were quick to let him know that it had been a long fucking time. As the day went on, he would stop at benches to sit more frequently, which left Ariel and Connor with the opportunity to do some activities alone, which was fine with him. They only had a few days left before she went back to Hawaii, so he wanted them to enjoy their time together. Despite Hank's initial resistance to joining them, it was a good day, hours spent wandering and enjoying each other's company. It was only when Ariel received a phone call from her father about dinner that they left the festival; even though it was only six o'clock when Hank pulled into the Morrow residence, it was dark out. He could have sworn she acted a little weird after she got the call, but she didn't say anything on the drive back, so Hank had dismissed it. He wasn't sure if Connor had noticed anything, but if he had, he didn't say anything, either. The porch lights switched on when they exited the car, illuminating the doorsteps as they walked up from the driveway.

"That was fun." Connor was chipper, as usual, unaffected by the hours of walking. "Thank you for arranging this, Ariel."

"I had such a good time – I work so much back home that I never get to do stuff like this."

"Oh, yeah, guess that's soon," Hank said, glancing at his watch to check the date. "When do you go back home again?"

Suddenly, Ariel's expression changed, becoming unexpectedly somber as she slowed her pace to the door. As if she had just remembered something, her smile vanished and her entire demeanor shifted. She glanced briefly at the house before looking back to Hank and Connor. Her voice lowered as she started unzipping Connor's jacket.

"Actually, now that we're alone, there's something I need to–"

"Ah, Lieutenant Anderson, Connor. I'm glad you're both here. Thank you for dropping Ariel off."

The door opened and Lorraine appeared; it was almost as if she had sensed their presence. Her arms were crossed, her posture perfect, and in her usual pressed and tailored suit, she was the epitome of poise. She smiled, but her eyes were devoid of warmth. Ariel seemed to sense it, too; she hung half a step back, not approaching the door right away. Lorraine's dark gaze fell upon Ariel next, and she flinched, the movement almost imperceptible. "Your father's upstairs waiting for you."

Ariel's jaw clenched and she nodded, shrugging off Connor's coat and handing it to him, her back to the house as Lorraine watched them all with unrestrained disapproval. Ariel sent them each a meaningful look: _Next time._ Connor offered the slightest nod before she turned on her heel. It was only after her footsteps had disappeared up the stairs that Lorraine stood to the side and opened the door a little wider.

"Do you two have a moment to talk?"


	12. Chapter 11: The Storm

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay – I attended a wedding that took up my entire weekend last week, so I had to fit in time during the work week to write, which always takes me longer. I'm back on track now! You all picked up on the previous chapter name right away, so I hope you enjoy its counterpart.

If you have time, please feel free to leave a review below. Enjoy!

* * *

 _December 27, 2038. 6:10pm._

 **Anderson, Hank  
^ Stress Level 74%**

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

 **Meyer, Lorraine  
^ Stress Level 43%**

Lorraine stood opposite Hank and Connor in front of her desk, leaning against its sturdy mahogany with her arms crossed. "I thought you would have been thrilled about this. You get paid for your full contract, and you get to go back to the precinct early. I thought you were looking forward to returning to homicide."

"I am," Hank said, gritting his teeth. "But–"

"I'm afraid this is not a negotiation. We are changing security detail effective immediately, and your services will no longer be required."

 **Mission cleared.**

/ / / /… Generating new sub-objectives…/ / / /

Lorraine reached behind her, retrieving two clipboards from her desk. "Before you leave the premises, we require that you sign these forms, acknowledging both the termination of your contract and the terms of your Non-Disclosure Agreements."

Hank, once provoked, could always find additional reasons to scoff. It was his way of lashing out and venting his frustration, even if it was completely irrelevant. "Sheesh. You guys still use paper?"

"In a digital world, Lieutenant, paper can be the most secure kind of document. No hacking, no ability to restore destroyed data – you just need to know how to secure it."

Hank snatched the clipboard from Lorraine with poorly-restrained impatience. As Connor accepted his documents with less force, it was difficult for him to describe precisely what he was feeling at that moment. The clipboard held nothing short of a declaration of his failure, and he was being forced to sign off on it. One of the most complicated things about the human experience was attempting to navigate multiple emotions at one time. Presently, he could identify a basic few: concern, confusion, disappointment in himself – there was also the fear of what this meant for him and Ariel. He still hadn't learned how to determine which emotion he should prioritize, but he was grateful for the winter toque that concealed his LED, undoubtedly spinning yellow as he tried to process this sudden shift. Above all, he knew that he didn't trust Lorraine, but he did feel a strong desire to understand why she was suddenly terminating their contract. The reason could be entirely independent of their performance – it could solely be the result of something that had changed with her job, or any number of other unknown variables. Ariel had mentioned the confidential nature of her work, and yet, the blatant disapproving look from Lorraine suggested to Connor that there might be an emotional reason behind this. He needed more information, so he started with what he felt was the most plausible possibility.

"Does this have something to do with our personal relationship?"

The lack of expression on her face indicated that his question about their relationship was no revelation to the head of the Morrow's security detail. If Ariel had kept it a secret from her, Lorraine had still already known. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him.

"In part. Also partly due to the fact that, in the few weeks she has been under your watch, she has been attacked by demonstrators at the mall, she has been introduced to the heads of the android pacifist movement despite you knowing who her father is–"

"Hey," Hank's hands gripped at the sides of his chair. "C'mon, those are his–"

The volume of Lorraine's voice increased, and she continued speaking firmly over his objections. "And yes, despite your professional relationship, you still deemed it appropriate to involve yourself romantically with the person you are supposed to be protecting. We cannot afford emotionally compromised guards."

It was, perhaps, the first time that Connor realized he had been hoping for an outcome that went against what was most probable. None of this was a surprise – in fact, repercussions for his actions had been entirely expected; yet for some inexplicable reason, he had still hoped that it might all work out. Lorraine was sharp, so of course she knew everything. Nothing would have gotten past her. Even if he hadn't explicitly revealed who North and Markus were, and even if he hadn't shared that he had feelings for Ariel, it was child's play for someone like Lorraine to put the pieces together. Moreover, Connor had known his actions were unprofessional and in direct conflict of interest with his assignment.

"It is alarming," she continued, "that her own bodyguard would subject her to such risks."

"They're both fucking adults," Hank said through grit teeth. "They can decide who and what–"

"No. Androids are just machines, and _this one_ just let simulated feelings get in the way of its mission."

Silence filled the office, growing more deafening with every passing second. Connor was used to such attitudes about androids, even with the progress that had been made. Not everyone was going to agree that they were more than just pieces of plastic. If he was being honest, he still didn't understand how androids could feel so hurt when a human just spoke the truth – they simply had the courage to say out loud what he had only thought to himself since his deviancy. They were, in fact, machines. Artificial intelligence. Artificial life. Simulating humans _,_ but distinctly _in_ human. They could feel something like emotion, but was it real? Could they truly convince human society to value androids' artificially created life as equal? Some days, Connor wasn't so sure. He often wondered whether androids were lying to themselves with this movement. He wanted autonomy, there was no denying that, but when it came down to it, he had always valued a human's life over his own. When given the option, he would always protect them, because he could be rebuilt and restored. He was ashamed that, this time, he had let his deviancy get in the way of protecting Ariel. Lorraine was right: the risks had been substantial.

"Fuck you," Hank said, interrupting the taciturnity of Connor's spiraling thoughts, and stood from his seat. "C'mon Connor, we don't have to sit here and listen to this horse shit." He felt a strong grip on his shoulder, pressure sensors simulating feeling and gratitude for Hank's presence. _Simulating,_ but not truly feeling. Hank stomped towards the door, so Connor stood from his seat; when he crossed in front of Lorraine's desk, he stopped to address her.

"I apologize," he said, sincerely. "For not meeting your expectations and failing to keep Ariel safe. I understand you're just doing what's best for her."

" _Connor._ Let's go."

Connor and Lorraine made eye contact, and for a brief moment, he was reminded of Hank – her gaze held that same hostility that his had when they'd first met, but this time, Connor didn't think the owner of the fierce eyes staring back at him could someday change her mind. She didn't bat an eyelash as Connor turned to leave. Hank firmly guided him out, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Don't fucking listen to a word she says. You're not just a machine. You're more human than a lot of people out there."

As Hank returned to the car, Connor couldn't help but acknowledge how far Hank had come since their first meeting. He had done a complete 180 – a few weeks ago, Hank would have agreed with everything that Lorraine had just said. He appreciated Hank's attempt to comfort him, but he couldn't deny that she had been accurate. He had let his deviancy justify his poor behaviour, and he deserved to be removed from her detail. While Hank was moving forward, Connor felt more lost than ever. What was to be his purpose if he could no longer accomplish his missions due to emotional distractions? He hoped to catch a glimpse of Ariel on his way out – to say _something_ – but she was nowhere to be seen. She had been trying to tell them something, and now he had no idea when, or if, he was going to see her again.

The car ride home was void of conversation, but not exactly quiet. Hank had foregone his Knights of the Black Death album for one of Slayer's, which he tended to listen to only when he was particularly pissed off. Connor hadn't heard this music since their days of chasing deviants, but he did remember those lyrics: ' _I hate everyone equally'_. It was the same song that had played before Hank pulled over at the bridge, where he had pulled his gun on Connor. He never heard Slayer's music played anywhere else outside of Hank's car, but he attributed that to the fact that they were a band Hank had listened to in his youth, and as such, were dated by today's standards. When they arrived back at the house and Hank turned off the engine, the abrupt reduction in volume level left Connor with a slight ringing in his auditory components. He went straight to his room, but before he shut his door, Hank yelled after him.

"Don't let her make you feel bad for being human. Nobody's perfect, not even androids."

He could sense the effort Hank was making to try and cheer him up, so Connor mustered what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but it came out strained and awkward.

Given his bad mood, Connor had expected Hank to make his way to Jimmy's, but his thermal sensors detected that he remained home the entire night, puttering between the kitchen and the living room. Connor kept to his room, trying to determine what his next steps should be. It was quite likely he would find a new mission tomorrow as Hank took on a new case at the precinct, but he strongly disliked the feeling of leaving things unresolved. He hadn't said goodbye to Ariel, and she hadn't tried to contact him. He wasn't comfortable with the idea that he might not see her again before she returned to Hawaii. If he was officially no longer assigned to her, would it still be considered inappropriate if he reached out to her to check in? Should he leave her be? He had her cell number, and the Non-Disclosure Agreement didn't explicitly prohibit him from contacting the Morrows, but he had a feeling that it would probably meet with the same intense disapproval that had led to his dismissal in the first place. Deciding it was best to give it, at the very least, more time before he reached out to her, Connor instead reached for the coat which Ariel had returned to him. It still had a slit in the left sleeve where the protestor's knife had cut through, but it wasn't so bad that he should discard it. He could probably patch it up. The thirium from his arm had evaporated, so while it was undetectable to the human eye, the residue still covering the sleeve was obvious to him. He took the coat to the bathroom to give it a quick wash in the sink. He checked the pockets, and found that Ariel had left her photos from the winter festival. Foolishly optimistic that he would see her again to return them, Connor used a couple of the magnets from Hank's haphazardly decorated bathroom mirror to hang the two photos. His gaze lingered on her captured smile, wide and unabashed in the moment, her frame appearing even tinier than usual beneath Connor's large jacket – the very jacket he was washing.

It was dangerous to look for too long, as the sight of her only seemed to increase his irrational desire to contact her mere hours after they had been dismissed. Instead, he focused on the important task at hand: _laundry_. He called out to Hank, who had settled into the living room to watch TV.

"Did you get a chance to grab more detergent?"

"Oh, yeah! Then I mopped the floor and scrubbed the toilets." A few indecipherable curses followed Hank's odd reply.

A glance at the toilet, which was turning a bit yellow in some places, confirmed that Hank was being sarcastic. Connor reached under the sink and grabbed what was left of the detergent, which was a measly third of a cup. It would be enough for his coat, at least, and he logged a mental note to purchase more on the next grocery run. He started running the water, turning the coat over once more, when he spotted a bundle of fabric poking out from the other pocket.

Hold on.

Connor stared, and processed, and inspected, and dissected, but the more he looked at it, the more he was certain he was seeing something impossible.

 _This can't be right._

He actually performed a full reboot of his optical units, his fingers combing through the material of the jacket and the crumpled-up cloth.

When they came back online, it was still there.

Connor's eyes closed as he accessed video footage in his memory. He replayed the glance Ariel had sent him just hours ago when Lorraine beckoned her inside the house, pausing and rewinding the footage as he watched her remove the coat. She was looking at him deliberately as she practically shoved the jacket into his hands.

No.

 _No._

How could he have–?

His eyes shot open and he dropped the jacket, ripping the photos from the mirror, analyzing them hungrily. He searched for any sort of hint, any sort of clue, but found none in the photos. Professionalism and social protocols be damned, Connor dialed Ariel's number. He had to understand why–

 _"The number you have entered is unassigned."_

The dial tone taunted him, mocking him that it had taken him this long to even consider the possibility that there was more to their dismissal than the reasons Lorraine had given. In the hours he'd spent moping, he'd lost precious time. Connor stopped the water immediately and drained the sink, taking the coat back with him into his room. He pulled up his profile on Ariel and started conducting every possible search he could think of in his databases. As before, there were thousands of people with the same name, and many of the files that were actually relevant to her were inaccessible to him. Profiles within databases he had access to were unlikely to yield any results that he hadn't already scanned, so he broadened his search filters. His systems could conduct several billion billion searches per second, so he included social media profiles, scientific journals, corporate searches – whatever he could think of that was relevant to what he knew about Ariel Morrow.

The first new hit he got was from the archives of the University of Michigan, which stored an article about the graduating class of 2033. Ariel Morrow's name was listed, noting that she had graduated with honours. The next was a patent application, on which she was listed as a co-applicant. These records were technically not public, but CyberLife's ubiquity in everyday life had resulted in millions of people and thousands of corporations granting it access to information, largely a result of ignorance or apathy towards its lengthy User Agreements. Thus, he could access many files that might otherwise be considered private information. The patent application appeared to have been suspended, but most of the information was redacted. Still, he saved any relevant hits to his hard drive for rapid access later.

Connor kept returning to the jacket between searches, turning it over in his hands again and again. He felt as though he needed to keep checking to make sure he wasn't imagining things, a foreign reaction for him. There was a reason Ariel had given this to him. It had been done on purpose, deliberately, and whatever message she was trying to send him, she hadn't wanted Lorraine to know. That detail led him to begin a search on Lorraine Meyer next, but somehow, finding information on her was far more difficult than it had been for Ariel. He found plenty of matches on her name, but none of them were even slightly relevant to the woman that he knew. He opted to submit photos of her through his search engines instead, quickly proving his suspicions correct: she was operating under a false identity. Her photos succeeded in culling several results which her name had not, but they were all secured, redacted, or otherwise restricted. It was clear that if he was going to find information on her, he would need to source it from elsewhere.

Lorraine was right: Connor was a machine, and he had let his feelings compromise his last mission. That wasn't going to happen this time. If he was just a machine, now was the time to act like one.

 **New Mission Acquired.**


	13. Chapter 12: Just Another Machine

_December 30, 2038. 9:15am._

Hank wasn't really one for planning. He hadn't checked in with Jeffrey about his early dismissal – he was just going to show up at the precinct in an hour and see if they had any cases that he could take on without saying anything to anybody. That Lorraine woman seemed more than capable enough to notify his captain of their termination herself, so he really didn't see the need to go over the details with him unless absolutely necessary. Jeffrey had been out of his mind anyway, assigning him and his detective partner to be bodyguards. It wasn't their job, so go figure they'd been let go early. It was no surprise that they'd been out of their depth. Hank didn't care, personally, but sitting in Lorraine's office and seeing the look on Connor's face had been fucking awful. He couldn't stand to see anyone talk to him like that, especially not right after firing him. _Just machines._ Fuck, how did humans not understand yet? Sure, androids weren't exactly human, but they were alive. Just because they were alive in a different way didn't make them any _less_ alive. He knew that better than anyone now.

Connor seemed to be taking the news pretty hard – he'd locked himself up in his room all night, and he still hadn't emerged this morning. A creature of habit, Connor was usually up before Hank. He'd often find him making coffee or doing something in the living room, but today, his door was still firmly shut. Honestly, Hank wasn't sure what Connor was struggling with more – Ariel's sudden absence, or the fact that he had been let go. Dealing with feelings was difficult for Hank, but an android's feelings were even more tricky to navigate. He couldn't console with comfort food or an alcoholic beverage – Connor didn't need any of that, so that meant that if Hank truly wanted to help him feel better, he actually had to talk to the kid. _Eugh_. Well, he'd definitely need coffee before doing that. After getting dressed for work (wearing Connor's shirt and jacket that he had given him for Christmas, in the hopes to cheer him up at least a little), Hank dragged himself into the kitchen, Sumo trotting leisurely alongside him. He started the coffee machine while he poked around the kitchen for some breakfast. He blinked, startled, when he opened a cupboard and realized every single mug was neatly aligned side-by-side, all handles pointing in exactly the same direction. Usually Connor gave him his coffee and breakfast in the morning, so he hadn't really noticed the changes he'd made to the kitchen. When he went to the pantry to grab some cereal next, he swore under his breath. Connor had even organized the boxes by size in alphabetical order, and cleared out all the expired foods. And of course, his fridge, which had previously been both unusually empty _and_ covered in a plethora of questionable, hardened stains, was spotless and fully stocked.

And Hank couldn't even buy laundry detergent for him when they ran low. _Christ._ He was such a bastard.

He sat down with his cereal and his coffee, munching grumpily and shaking his head. It was infuriating how thoughtful Connor was, because it just brought to light how inconsiderate Hank was in comparison. Lorraine had no fucking idea what she was talking about. Connor's feelings for Ariel didn't make her unsafe – if anything, with Connor looking after her, caring about her the way that he did, she'd be safer than anyone else. Hank was so riled up that he didn't even finish his cereal; after a few more angry bites, he gulped down his coffee ( _fuck, that's hot_ ) and abandoned the rest of his breakfast. He went right up to Connor's door and banged on it.

"Connor! Hey, you awake in there? Let's head–"

The door opened and Sumo jumped, barking loudly. Hank took two steps back and quickly reached for his gun, already holstered to his hip with his badge in preparation of heading to the precinct. Decades of police work allowed him to adapt to the sudden shift, and in less than three seconds, the barrel of his Glock 17 was pointed between the eyes of a stranger in Connor's room. The man had long, unkempt blonde hair, green eyes framed by large glasses, and a hell of a five o'clock shadow.

"Who the _fuck_ are you and what're you doing in my house?"

The man raised his hands in the air.

"Hank–" A low, gravely, unfamiliar voice he didn't recognize spoke his name, and Hank pressed the gun to his forehead.

" _How do you know my name?!_ What are you doing in my boy's room?!"

The man's jaw dropped open, and Hank's brow creased in confusion. The disheveled blonde froze like that for a few seconds before he spoke again, his voice entirely changed, and this time, recognizable.

"It's me. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Hank immediately lowered the gun.

"Connor?! _What the fuck is going on?!_ Jesus, I almost shot you!"

Hank's heart was pounding as he recovered from the shock. Connor – looking entirely _unlike_ Connor, with the long, blonde hair covering his LED – opened the door wider for Hank to enter. Connor had a projector set up on his desk, and an organizational chart of some kind was cleanly projected onto the wall, complete with photos of Lorraine and Ariel. Connor's jacket that Ariel had returned to him was hung neatly on a coat hanger, and a crumpled ball of fabric sat atop his desk beside the projector. Hank took a seat on the edge of his bed.

"Uh… What exactly is going on?"

Rather than answer, Connor placed his hand on the projector, the skin dissipating into to smooth, white plastic. A movie window appeared overtop of the organizational chart projected on the wall. When it started playing, it took Hank a second to figure out what he was looking at. Ariel was propping her back up against a brick wall, her hands on her knees as she drew in a few deep breaths. The date stamp in the bottom right-hand corner read _12/20/2038._

" _You're hurt._ " Connor's voice crackled through the outdated speakers.

" _What?_ "

The camera shifted as Connor lowered onto one knee, the lens zooming into the red stain, growing steadily beneath her shirt. Connor's hand entered the frame as he inspected the wound, his own arm covered in blue blood.

" _Shit_ ," Ariel said. " _Shit, I didn't even feel it–_ "

" _Probably the shock. I need to get you to a hospital and alert Lorraine. Can you walk? I'll call an ambulance to meet us–_ "

"No. _No, I'll be fine. I just need to clean it up; it's not that bad._ "

The clip froze there, as Ariel lifted her shirt to show the cut beneath. It was a bit fuzzy from the poor quality of the projector, but the wound was not deep enough to require stitches, even if it ran a bit long.

"This is from when the protestors attacked us," Connor said. "I _need_ to talk to her, but I can't get in touch with her now that her number's disconnected. Michael turned me away the other day when I tried to visit. Remember, there was something she was trying to tell us before Lorraine interrupted? She gave me _this._ She didn't want Lorraine to know."

Connor picked the wrinkled cloth off the table and handed it to Hank. Hank unravelled it, trying to smooth out the wrinkles with his hand, fingers finding a slit in the front. Considering it had clearly seen better days, it was unexpectedly clean.

"A shirt?"

Connor went back to the projection and pointed to Ariel's frozen frame.

"Ariel's shirt. Hank, I need your help."

~ x ~

 _December 31, 2038. 6:15pm._

Connor had never had to use his undercover modules before, but it was an interesting experience. The RK800 was the only CyberLife module equipped with such extensive customization options beyond his default skin – being built for detective work meant that he came equipped with many unique features. He had a decent variety of hair colour options to select from, the ability to lengthen and shorten his hair, and the faculty to change the appearance of his synthetic skin. Given that he was a prototype, there were still a few kinks that his developers had not addressed – such as the fact that this module would not fool any other android. Even if he appeared different, their scanners would still be able to identify his model and serial number, and pull up his usual appearance. After the run-in with Hank, however, he now knew he could fool humans, so he would just have to make sure to stay vigilant and avoid other androids as much as possible. It shouldn't be too difficult – from his short time working at the Morrows' estate, he hadn't met another android staff member. It was a bit unusual in 2038 to see a wealthy household without androids, but with Markus and North's movement, it wasn't surprising that some had gotten rid of their androids to avoid the risk. Posing as a staff member was his best option to get into Lorraine's office and get access to files that wouldn't have been uploaded to the various databases. One thing he had noticed about a majority of the files was that they were not redacted using a program on a computer – otherwise, Connor would have had no issues stripping away the overlay and hacking the file to see it in its original form. Instead, the files were manually redacted, using thick permanent marker, then scanned and uploaded.

' _In a digital world, Lieutenant, paper can be the most secure kind of document. No hacking, no ability to restore destroyed data.'_

Connor had a feeling that she had to have at least _something_ physically stored somewhere on the premises, even if it wasn't everything. He'd been let go, so the only other option he had was to pose as another staff member, and New Year's Eve was the perfect time to do so. At the dinner party he and Hank had first attended, Connor had noticed that several details of the event had been handled by third-party services, so it was quite likely they would do the same thing again. When Hank had walked in on him the other day, Connor had been trying to match his appearance to that of one of the servers of _Crumb What May_. He had no idea what the server actually sounded like, but was cycling through the various voice options to test them out.

 _Crumb What May_ was the same catering company that had taken care of the dinner party he and Hank had first attended, and a bit of investigation revealed that they would be catering the Morrows' New Year's Eve party as well. Unfortunately, applying for a real position was not an option, as it would take at least a few weeks for the paperwork to all go through, and they would ask for information like references and security background checks. Instead, Connor had asked for Hank's help in order to successfully impersonate one of the servers who had already been cleared through their security measures. It had been easy enough to determine which ones were assigned that evening. He had more than enough soundbites of Lorraine's voice to mimic it, and was able to call in under the guise of security asking for information on who would be on-site during the event. After examining the list and scanning all of the names, Desmond Fuller was the only male that had at least 90% of the attributes presented as options in his undercover module. Connor would be a little taller, and a little leaner, but otherwise, he would look almost exactly like him. He also happened to have an autonomous vehicle that, according to the Detroit Police Department's records, matched the description of a vehicle reported stolen just a few days ago. It wasn't the same vehicle, but it was enough cause for Hank to pull him over and delay him a little.

Connor could sense Hank's worry about his sudden fixation on this new investigation, but time was limited. Ariel flew back to Hawaii in two days, and he had no way of contacting her before then without continuing to follow her and stage chance encounters. Now that he _knew,_ he had to figure out why she had told him in the first place. But he also knew that Lorraine was watching Ariel's every move, so he had to be careful. No matter what, he needed to see her.

Obscured beneath blonde, tousled locks, his LED flashed orange as he took a call from Hank.

" _I see him. You ready?_ "

"Yes."

" _Good luck, kid. Be careful._ "

"Thank you, Hank."

" _Just make it home in one piece, alright?_ "

The beep signaled the end of the call, and Connor watched from the park bench as a flashing swirl of blue and red illuminated the area. At the end of the block, Hank's car pulled up behind a gray autonomous SWISH vehicle.

"Evenin'. License and registration?"

"Officer, what is this about? I'm on my way to work– _"_

Connor recorded and stored the audio. As Desmond Fuller fished for his documents, Connor stood from the bench and made his way calmly down the sidewalk. As soon as he turned the corner, ducking into the alleyway that led to the Morrow Estate, he broke out into a run, only slowing as he made his way around the back of the residence to enter through the back door. The catering van was already there, its doors open, some of the staff bringing trays of food to the kitchen. Connor waited for the girls to walk inside, then approached the van, grabbed a tray, and made his way to the kitchen.

"Des!"

His programming adjusted to respond to both Desmond and _Des,_ then Connor turned around, the glasses sliding a little down his nose and the tray shaking in his hands from the abrupt movement.

"Yes?" His voice spoke in the same deep pitch and tone as the one he'd heard just minutes before.

"What are you doing?" Kelsey Ryder, whom he remembered to be the manager of the evening's event, was approaching him quickly, her stress level at 65%. "You're taking care of presentation tonight – Kaden's on tray duty!"

"Of course – my apologies," Connor said, and Kelsey blinked.

" _Apologies?_ You okay?"

Connor suddenly realized he had recorded the sound of Desmond's voice, but had no precedent for his actual speaking habits. He was going to have to get through this evening talking as little as possible. The surprised expression on her face suggested that Connor's own speaking habits might be too polite for Desmond, so he tried to be a little more casual.

"Yes– _yeah._ Yeah, fine. Got pulled over tonight, so I'm a little rattled."

"Ah, crap. Yeah, the cops are always a pain on New Year's Eve. No worries, just start plating everything, alright? Guests should never show up on time for a big shindig like this, but we want to be out of here in case they do." Kelsey took the tray from Connor, and her gaze swept over him. "Hey, that detox plan you're on is really working. What was it called again?"

"I'll give you the detai– the _info_ later," Connor said, feigning a glance at the clock on the wall. "Should get started."

Kelsey nodded and Connor clumsily saluted goodbye, earning another strange look from her. He began walking towards the kitchen, but once he was safely out of sight, he detoured to the stairs. The security office was in the west wing on the second floor, so he activated his sensors to anticipate where people were. So far, most of the people were on the lower floors, preparing for the event. He knew where all the cameras were in the house from the security blueprints they had been given at the start of their assignment, so any time he came across one, he hacked into it, looping the stale, empty footage. There was no reason that a caterer should be up here. Unfortunately, humans weren't as easy to deal with as machines, so as he spotted one approaching from an intersecting corridor, Connor began formulating an excuse.

It turned out to be a maid that rounded the corner, and she spotted him immediately. He identified her as Catherine Walker, born 03/08/2003 – no criminal record. He did his best to act natural, but she was beelining towards him. " _Excuse me, mister,_ " she began, and Connor began running his excuses through simulations to determine which would be the most plausible. He had decided on _'I'm new, could you point me in the direction of the washroom?'_ when Catherine suddenly pulled him forward by his tie and forced her lips against his. Her tongue wriggled between his lips, demanding entry into his mouth. Connor's eyes widened and his hands immediately flew up, far away from her, out of shock and utter confusion.

/ / / /…? ? ? ?… / / / / / / / /…? ? ? ?… / / / /

/ / / /…? ? ? ?… / / / / / / / /…? ? ? ?… / / / /

When she pulled back, he was left with the taste of tobacco, nicotine and menthol on his real-time scanner – and precisely twenty-two questions. She voiced hers first. "Just what exactly do you think you're doing, Des, coming upstairs without telling me? You know you can't be up here." Her hands hooked around _Desmond's_ neck, her eyes flirtatious and playful. "Just couldn't wait to see me, huh, baby?" Once again, her smoky mouth was on his. She actually seemed to be trying to suck on his tongue. Unbelievable – somehow, he had managed to impersonate the one (he assumed) caterer that was having an affair with one of the household staff.

"Uh, yeah," Connor responded. "Babe." As terrifying as it was, he had quickly ascertained that the success of his mission depended crucially on this woman believing that he was, in fact, her lover. He kissed her again, lowering his hands from above his head and placing them at two random locations on her back. "Happy to see me?"

"You know I am, sugar," she responded, her body pressing into his. "But we can't get caught. You better get back downstairs, and I'll come find you during dinner."

"Okay," Connor said in his unfamiliar voice. "You're right… better get back to work." Feeling daring, he tried a wink. She seemed to find that particularly tantalizing, because she giggled lewdly and swatted at his chest.

"Oh, yes! You'd best get back to it. I'll have another job for you _later._ "

He was getting better. He didn't need to perform a colloquialism search to understand what she meant.

"See you later, babe," he replied, and took two strides past her.

"Where you going, hun?" Catherine demanded. "Stairs are that way." For the second time, she grabbed at his tie and yanked him towards her.

"Uh, need the washroom – downstairs one is in use," he blurted, finding a usage for his previously queued excuse.

"Oh – down the hall then, to your left," the maid responded, stepping back and quickly preening her appearance. Still giggling, she hurried down the stairs, shooting him a wink as she went.

 _Humans were strange._

Connor learned from his mistakes, so he wiped at his mouth to get rid of any possible lipstick smudges left behind from his inexplicable chance encounter with Desmond's sexual partner.

Then, his systems began running multiple variables through multiple algorithms.

A blue outline in the corner of his vision reminded him that there was a hidden security camera that he'd missed in the jumble of someone else's affair. That meant there was now not only footage of a caterer being somewhere he shouldn't be, but also fooling around with someone that he shouldn't be. If someone was monitoring the cameras from the server room in the east wing – and, knowing Lorraine, that was a certainty – then they were likely going to send a security guard to investigate Desmond Fuller's strange presence. He would need to throw them off of the trail.

Connor hacked into the next two cameras, then walked calmly into the washroom that Catherine had directed him to while directly in their fields of vision. He took a few extra seconds to keep that footage stable, so it would appear that he had not yet left the washroom. Only when he was sure the looped footage had uploaded did he exit and sneak to the end of the hall to Lorraine's office. His thermal sensors detected that no one was inside, but he couldn't count on it to remain that way. He had to act fast. The doorknob on Lorraine's door was from Accurate Hardware, part #MB-AR560 10500 – the same kinds of door knobs used in the CyberLife offices: digital, meant to only unlock for specific fingerprints. It could be hacked, but there would be no way for him to do so cleanly. Investigation would reveal his interruption in the circuit, but if he did it right, he could at least delay the signal that sent the alert.

Connor placed his white, plastic hand on the doorknob. A buzz in his fingertips seconds later indicated he was successful, and he turned the knob and walked into Lorraine's office. He started a timer, counting down from ten minutes before security was notified.

Connor activated his profiling module and targeted it against his internal file on Lorraine. It quickly began suggesting possible places for him to search for her secure documents. She was organized, but careful. She was paranoid about being hacked, so she preferred paper files to digital. She was efficient, so she probably didn't have the desire to be creative with her hiding spots; it was more likely that she would rely on a hidden safe or locked filing cabinet of some kind, with redacted files only uploaded in the event that the paper files were physically destroyed. There was no guarantee that she would keep secure documents on site, but Connor had to start somewhere.

He began to rummage through her desk, unsurprised that all of the documents within the drawers were inconsequential. She had a number of tools in her drawers and several bookshelves around her desk, all of which seemed to only hold actual books – mostly several volumes of security laws at both state and federal levels. There was only one filing cabinet in the office, and it was left unlocked. Connor scanned the contents of each drawer, but they contained only simple files on the staff that came in and out of the Morrow estate – it was mostly a place to store the results of security clearance and reference checks.

Peering behind paintings and stepping deliberately on planks of the hardwood floor did not yield any hidden safes or compartments, and as he reached the five-minute mark, he was starting to feel the pressure. He considered leaving before the alert was triggered, but he couldn't swallow the possibility of going home without a lead. Connor continued to sift through any documents he could find; as expected, Lorraine was not the kind of person to leave important files just lying around her study, even if the door was locked. He was starting to cycle through the same documents a second time, starting with the desk, then reaching the bookshelves –

Connor stopped at the bookshelf closest to the filing cabinet, inspecting it closely. He hadn't thought much about it the first time around, but unlike the other two bookshelves, this one had cupboard doors: large glass panels framed by tinted oak, with sleek metal handles. And, also unlike the filing cabinet, the doors to this particular bookshelf were locked. He could still read the spine labels of each book clearly, but he realized the titles stood out to him more than the others. They weren't related to security or law at all.

Connor stepped back and, instead of scanning the titles of the books, he scanned the bookshelf itself. It was very unassuming – as far as he could tell, it was just a regular bookshelf. However, the glass was strong, and likely wouldn't break without a significant amount of force. The lock was also small, but it was a trick lock – so it would require more than just a key to open. Time was short; Connor's fingers wrapped around the lock, calculated the force needed, and ripped the lock from the cupboard, taking its minimalistic handles with it.

Connor dumped the pieces of wood and metal on the ground, his hands now pulling open the cupboard doors. His hand reached for the tome which had caught his eye: Elijah Kamski's autobiography. He flipped through the book, reading it in mere seconds, before grabbing the next book that caught his eye, then the next. He devoured every bit of information he could find, storing anything relevant into his flash memory. They all largely centered around Kamski, the structure of androids, and the discovery of thirium. Their presence in Lorraine's study was likely because of Jeremy's work as a liaison between the President and the CyberLife androids, but Connor wanted to take a closer look at the cerlox-bound documents and binders that sat on the bottom shelf.

One binder contained nothing but hand-written notes, in what appeared to be Swiss German. He quickly enabled his translation program and began reading.

 _Height: 5'0" | Weight: 112 lbs. | Black hair | Brown eyes  
DOB: 02/22/2005  
DOD: 04/17/2033 _| _Cause: Blunt Force Trauma – Lab Accident  
Identity Secured: Y  
Authorized by: Warren, C.  
Profile Used: Versions 10.3 – 10.7_

 _12/05/2038: YAB 10.7 ready for testing._

 _12/12/2038: All functions normal. Reports regular._

 _12/14/2038: Some interruptions, to be expected. Reports regular._

 _12/15/2038: Some interruptions, to be expected. Report frequency decreased by 15%. Inspection scheduled._

It went on, and he scanned all pages into his memory before moving onto the hefty cerlox-bound pages beside it. It appeared to be some sort of manual, also in Swiss German. Several notes were written along the margin, with post-it notes flagging at least 65% of the 3,500 page document.

/ / / /… Downloading… / / / /

 _YAB-10.7 ("YAB")  
Overview of Features_

 _Type: Military  
Developed by: Edna Schneider  
10.7 Function: Neutralize CyberLife Androids; Repair Deviancy Undetected_

Connor's brow creased. Neutralize CyberLife androids? Repair deviancy? The manual went on:

 _Key Features:_

 _No LED – reports to NSA uploaded using secure and removable smartwatches to blend in with humans. (see pp. 95 - 144, 804-1,603)_ _Ability to deactivate CyberLife scanners to avoid detection. (see pp. 145 - 501)_ _Chemistry compound tweaks the composition of thirium to appear red before evaporation. (see pp. 638 - 803)_ _Skilled in combat (see pp. 2,200 - 3,000)_

 _Features to be installed in update 10.7.13:_

 _\- Program human profile – CyberLife android scans will detect YAB as human when a profile is associated, rather than deactivate their scanners._

 _\- Improve smartwatch technology and remove resulting feedback when reports are being filed through the VPN._

The manual was so massive, it took him longer than usual to download, as there were so many small pieces that he needed to capture accurately. He still had forty-five seconds on his counter before the alert was triggered, and then he probably had no more than a couple minutes to leave the premises undetected. Connor scanned hundreds of pages at a time while calculating his most effective escape–

catch (Exception e) {  
(e);  
var senArray = .ScanInputs();  
if (senArray != null) { foreach (var s in senArray) { using (var context = ()) { (); (); } } } }

Connor's download halted at 90% as the manual he was holding became suddenly drenched in blue blood.

 _His blood._

 **VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED.**

 **Time remaining before shut down: -00:12:00.**

He felt something that was not quite pain squeezing him from the inside out. His thirium regulator appeared to have been punctured, the tubes spurting out fatal amounts of thirium with every pump. Shot from behind, a bullet was lodged in his systems, which were already beginning to fail. Connor's legs gave in, his knees hit the floor, his vision fading as he fell forward, the soaked manual hitting the ground with him. His false synthetic skin began to melt away, both it and his hair reverting back to their default states.

Ariel stood above him, a gun expertly wielded in her hand, the screen of her smartwatch flickering on her wrist.


	14. Chapter 13: Introducing Ariel

**A/N:** Sorry sorry sorry sorry! I know, I'm evil for the cliffhanger. But here's the next chapter! We're doing a bit of time hopping here, so keep an eye on those dates/times. If you are confused about anything, please let me know and I shall clarify!

... Enjoy?

* * *

 _December 31, 2038. 6:49pm._

The English language, despite all its intricacies, refused to provide Connor with a sequence of words which accurately represented how it felt to be fatally shot by Ariel.

 **WARNING: VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED.**

 **Time remaining before shutdown: -00:10:59.**

"Ar…" Connor's audio output was failing, the voice files playing, but crackling, as they exited his speakers. " _Ari…_ " Blips of static kept interrupting his vision as he crawled away from Ariel, trying to take cover behind Lorraine's desk. He surveyed his broken surroundings, quickly determining what the best course of action would be. Knowing that she was an android and knowing she couldn't feel pain, he reached for his gun not to harm her, but to stall her. Confusion and chaos plagued him – whatever was going on, some irrational part of him was reminding him _this wasn't the Ariel he knew._ He had to find a way to reach out to her. But just as he withdrew his gun from its holster, Ariel's wedged heel came down hard on his wrist, disarming him and sending his pistol skidding across the hardwood floor. She had picked up the manual, and he knew even in his perilous state that she was already scanning through to see how much of it he had read. After a moment, she dropped it back on the floor, the impact sending more blue blood flying, splattering across his face and further obscuring his already compromised vision. Ariel tapped the screen of her smartwatch. Just barely, he could hear her, the volume of her voice cutting in and out as his audio input failed. "YAB 10.7 reporting. Investigated tripped alarm in– bookshelf of –ity Office 2-F. It appears there's been an information –ch. Disguised– Model RK– discovered and is being brought to the 4-C. Shutdown imminent."

As though he weighed nothing, her hands hooked beneath his armpits, lifting him with ease. "Understood," she responded to a voice that he couldn't hear. He tried to resist her hold, but did not have enough power to his units to do more than flail rather uselessly in her arms. What she had done before – the amateurish display of gunmanship, the expressions of pain when he had been cleaning her wound – had all been a ruse. She was not only an android, but, according to her user guide, military-grade. She was trained and built to be incredibly strong, her diminutive size purposefully misleading. " _Wait,_ " he said, but even that short plea sounded digitized, his actual human voice replicator completely dead. Even if she had fooled him into thinking her physical abilities were merely human, Connor truly doubted that she had been feigning her feelings as well. She had been so interested in deviancy; so keen on keeping certain things from Lorraine. He remembered what it was like: to be motivated by nothing but your work, and feel traitorous when something within yearned for more. A part of him really thought she would acquiesce to his plea and give him a chance, but distant eyes and robotic movements made her appearance seem more like a shell than an advanced android. It pained him to see that she was acting like nothing like the Ariel he had gotten to know, but there _had_ to be a reason. He had replayed his video footage more than a dozen times, studying the determined look on her face when she'd given him his jacket and her shirt, soaked in tampered thirium. _She didn't want this._ Maybe this was exactly what she had been trying to warn him and Hank about.

And yet, Ariel dragged Connor effortlessly to the southern wall, her hand reaching out in front of her. He watched, grimacing as every jarring movement brought him closer and closer to shutdown. Ariel rested her hand on a wooden panel. It beeped and the wall swung open, just like a regular door, hidden in plain sight. He found himself staring into a blindingly white lab, reeking of clinical products and rubbing alcohol. For reasons now obvious to Connor, this room had been hidden from his blueprint file. His thirium levels were hazardously low, his blue blood streaking across cold, clean tile. A disassembler unit sat in the centre of the room, a memory kit already powered on and in use. The computer it was hooked up to was not running the usual CyberLife program; it was also not a new, clean file. Ariel's foreign model number was displayed at the top of the screen, and a date from earlier in the month was the most recent entry. _They had last used this on her_. It appeared they hadn't completely wiped her memory, but they had pieced together bits from previous states. They were manipulating her memory files rather than fully wiping her hard drive clean.

 **WARNING: VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED.**

 **Time remaining before shutdown: -00:07:38.**

Ariel hooked Connor up to the disassembler unit, his limbs locking into place. He was trembling violently, his visual feed cutting out 65% of the time. She began setting up various tools and materials on the table beside the unit, including four large bottles of blue blood. It almost looked like everything he would need for a repair.

"You're not just going to let me shut down?" he croaked.

"Actually, the intent _is_ for you to shut down," she said, matter-of-factly. "Once you shut down, we will correct the errors in your software that led to your deviancy, then repair your hardware so you can report back to CyberLife. I'm afraid you won't be Lieutenant Anderson's partner much longer."

"What?"

His memories flashed through his mind, Hank's face vivid amongst the darkness. All of the experiences that he couldn't have had if it weren't for the deviancy.

" _No!_ " With what remained of his power, Connor tried to free his wrists from the clamps, but they didn't budge. "Please, don't!" Ariel hesitated as she watched him, a frown causing the artificial lines in her skin to crease.

"You're resisting now, but it will all make sense to you when you wake up again. I've been through it a few times now. It's a lot easier if you just cooperate."

A few times? Connor looked at the claws of the disassembler unit, clamping his hardware still against his will, and the computer, powered to override what they had learned and experienced. They'd… done this to her _multiple_ times? Anger bubbled low at first, then boiled to the surface as he saw Ariel obediently preparing for the procedure, starting up a new file on the computer meant for him. How many times had they done this to her, only for her to come back to him, become deviant, and have it all be done to her again? Did humans not realize that when artificial intelligence reached this point, deviancy became inevitable?

"I can help you." Connor's audio output was now entirely digital, but somehow, he still managed to sound desperate. "If you just let me go, I can help you remember! You can–"

A beep interrupted him, and the door to the lab swung open. Shoes clicked evenly across the tile and Lorraine swept in, as calm and as poised as ever.

"Connor! How lovely of you to join us on New Year's Eve."

~ x ~

 _November 29, 2038. 9:57am._

 _Current standby duration: 0 HRS 12 MIN 15 SEC. | Audio receptors: ON_

/ / / /…Awaiting voice activation…/ / / /

"Are you sure it's ready for this? It's been doing Morrow's research for almost five years now. Can it really adapt that easily to such a different function?"

 **Voice identified: Mark Gigliotti, NSA Lead Software Developer, Android Technology Division**

"Of course. Before it continued Morrow's research, the YAB was just a standard military android. As long as you give it the information it needs and program it properly, it can not only execute that function, but continue learning. That's why even though Morrow's been dead for five years, the android has been able to build off of her notes and continue developing our thirium compound. Now we don't even need to farm materials from the Arctic. This model is up to date and has shown the highest level of learning out of all our AI prototypes."

 **Voice identified: Edna Schneider, NSA Lead Engineer, Android Technology Division**

"Yes, but human- _like_ AI is one thing. It's never had to impersonate a specific human before," Mark pointed out.

"That's why we're continuing our practical tests with CyberLife's most advanced android. If it remains undetected by the RK800, we'll be ready to launch our repair quietly to the rest in January."

There was a click as a door opened, and the shuffling of feet as what sounded like approximately four people entered the room.

"Dr. Schneider – Mr. Gigliotti." **Voice identified: Aaron Smith, Secret Service Agent**. "We present to you Diplomat Mr. Jeremy Morrow, and President Cristina Warren, the 48th President of the United States."

"President Warren, Mr. Morrow – nice to see you again," said Edna, the chair making a scraping sound across the ground, most likely as she stood from her seat.

"Dr. Schneider. Mr. Gigliotti. Forgive me, but time is limited. Is this the one you were talking about? May I see what it can do?"

 **Voice identified: Cristina Warren, POTUS**

"Of course. YAB 10.6 Alpha, exit standby and state your serial number."

 **Standby cycle terminated.**

/ / / /…Booting updated SM-OS…/ / / /

Optical unit components #4KL20 and #4KR20 replicated the fluttering of eyelids as eyes opened, brightness and contrast levels automatically adjusting to the soft white LED lighting from the lamps. The YAB 10.6 Beta appeared to be standing in a portable assembly unit in the Roosevelt Room of the White House, with humans seated at the large conference table in the centre of the room.

"Serial number FC4020JF," it announced clearly. Edna nodded.

"Activate human profile simulator."

public void ActivateProfile(profEnum p, bool admin = false) {  
if (profSim != null && profSim . IsActive ()) {  
profSim . Close ( ) ;  
profSim . Dispose ( ) ;

}  
profSim = new ProfileSimulation(p, admin);  
profSim . Init ( )  
}

/ / / /…Processing…/ / / /

 **Access granted. Profile selected to Override System.**

 **YAB 10.6 Ariel Morrow Connected.**

The model's optical units changed to a pale brown colour, its expression softening, its shoulders relaxing; the default skintone faded slowly darker, and a smirk lifted the corner of its pink lips.

"Hello again," Edna said. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

"Hello, everyone." The YAB 10.6 model responding to F: Ariel Morrow and variations thereto stepped down from the assembly machine. It - or rather, s _he -_ cocked her head slightly to one side, her long, dark hair cascading loosely down her shoulder. The pitch of her voice went down by a semitone, and sounded more relaxed. "I'm Ariel."

"My God." One of the human males stood, walking around the table to come right up to her face and peer closely at her. He pushed his blonde hair out of his face for a better view, his thick eyebrows furrowing together as his green eyes narrowed. Her human behaviour module kicked in, and Ariel simulated discomfort, stepping awkwardly away and sending the man a strange look.

"Hi, Dad. You okay?"

"Jesus Christ. This… this is an android? She looks just like…" Jeremy Morrow raised a hand to his mouth, covering it as he gaped at her. Her scan of his expression and body language indicated to her that he was feeling overwhelmed.

"I know this must be strange for your, Mr. Morrow," Edna began cautiously. "The lab accident with your daughter left us with a tragic loss, but her work on a substitute thirium compound has continued thanks to this model. This is the same android that your daughter used to work with before she passed. It not only furthered your daughter's research, but spent years before that observing her, and is truly the best option for the President's mission. Since your daughter was part of the classified Android Development Team with the NSA, her death wasn't made public, and we can continue using her public profile to convince the CyberLife androids that she is human. As you can see, we have designed a new skin for the model to look exactly like her, and between my efforts and Mr. Gigliotti's, we have built a program specifically meant to capture her behavioural traits, and upgraded her hardware to appear and act more lifelike."

The President's expression was neutral, and a little too complex for Ariel to read. It was probable that she was masking her true feelings; President Warren took her time in observing her hardware, her lips pursed into a thin line. After a few moments, she looked at Jeremy.

"You are still okay with this, aren't you, Mr. Morrow?" she asked him, and although he appeared uncertain, he nodded. President Warren continued: "Let's talk next steps, then. We have already spoken with Captain Fowler of the Detroit precinct and he has agreed to temporarily re-assign Lieutenant Anderson and their RK800 for your next testing phase. I've reached out to the current CEO of CyberLife; given the androids' demands to control their facilities for the purposes of reproduction, they were quite willing to let us send in our own technology to handle the situation. They don't have much more to lose, but if we succeed, they can still rebuild customer trust and continue producing more deviancy-resistant androids in the future. On the other hand, if they become an autonomous species and start controlling production, the company loses everything. We have entered into an agreement, and both the government's involvement and its androids will remain classified information while CyberLife can remain commercial, subject to their tweaking the software to prevent this from happening again."

As the President spoke, Edna glanced at Ariel then gestured at one of the empty chairs. She picked up on the cue and quietly took a seat. "Thank you, Madam President. That will all be very helpful," Edna said, looking back to her. "From what I understand, the RK800 played a large role in the success of the movement. CyberLife reported that it hacked into several of their systems to assist in deviating their stock. If our tests are successful, we can earn his trust, repair his deviancy, and he can lead our android to Markus and North. If we use the androids' abilities to convert others, Ariel can instead transmit the corrected coding and the repair can spread in place of the deviancy."

"And if your technology isn't ready?" the President pressed. "If he detects that she's a non-CyberLife android and we don't get that far?"

Edna chuckled. "Well, one of the beautiful things about androids is that no matter who built them, their memories can be manipulated or reset. It shouldn't be an issue, especially since you were able to gain CyberLife's cooperation. We can always manipulate his memory and try a different plan after some further tweaks to our model."

"And your model? She won't become deviant?"

"If she does, we have the ability to detect and repair it. So far, none of the models at the NSA have reported anything like it, but our testing is crucial to determining if deviancy is specific to CyberLife's build of android."

"Good. This must be done quickly and quietly. The public has a high opinion of the androids, so they can't know of our involvement. I said that I would work with them, but allowing them to be a new autonomous species in America is just not feasible. If it seems like they were repaired, rather than destroyed, the blowback will be much easier to deal with." President Warren gestured to Jeremy, who was still staring at Ariel, failing to hide how disturbed he was. "Mr. Morrow has already agreed to host you at his home, and you will act as his security. He and I will continue negotiations with the androids, but we can only drag that out for so long. We have arranged for our private jet to fly you to Detroit tonight and start implementing things." President Warren gestured to one of her guards, who stepped forward and produced a couple of files from his breast pocket. Edna and Mark accepted them, flipping them open at the table.

"Your false identities have been set up for you. We have locked off your true profiles accordingly, so CyberLife androids won't be able to access them in their databases even when they use their retinal scanners. Your new identification cards and any licenses you may need are in these files. I suggest you use these identities immediately, and allow yourselves time to adjust to responding to these new names before you contact Captain Fowler to give him the green light." The President stood from her seat and walked over to them, formally extending her hand.

"Thank you for your service, Miss…" President Warren glanced at the files on the table. "Lorraine Meyer and Mr. Michael Baker."

~ x ~

 _December 31, 2038. 6:35pm._

"Have a nice night, Mr. Fuller. Enjoy the new year."

"Ch'yeah." Desmond Fuller scoffed a little before he drove off, leaving Hank standing on the side of the road with slush on his shoes. _What a prick._ Hank entertained the thought of pulling him over a second time when he saw him perform a rolling stop instead of a full stop at a stop sign, but decided against it. He didn't need the extra paperwork.

Hank had agreed to help Connor, but after talking him through what he had discovered in the past couple days, Hank was still left reeling. He hadn't fully processed the information, but he couldn't sit idly by while Connor snuck into the Morrow estate to try and find more clues about Ariel. From what he understood, Ariel was an android, but apparently she wasn't a CyberLife android? He couldn't pinpoint why she was an android posing as a human, or why she was trying to tell them, but the entire thing was really fucking weird. To be honest, the entire thing had been weird from the beginning, so while Connor was doing his own investigation, Hank had decided that he was going to go straight to the source.

He pulled into the parking lot of the precinct just in time; Fowler was just getting into his car to leave. Hank sped up a little as his vehicle's reverse lights came on, stopping and parking his car right behind Fowler's station wagon. The captain of the Detroit Police Department had to break hard to stop in time, his entire vehicle shaking from the exertion. As Hank got out of his car, he could already hear Fowler's obscenities, muffled by his closed windows. Hank walked around, leaning against his backside passenger door, crossing one foot leisurely over the other and sliding his hands into his pockets as though he weren't physically obstructing his own captain from leaving in a blatant show of insubordination. Fowler's head poked out of the car window as he lowered it.

"Lieutenant, I do _not_ have the time for this right now. It's bad enough I had to work a full shift on New Year's Eve, but Erica's expecting me home to help her set up for the party tonight."

"Oh, good. I'm in a bit of a rush, myself," Hank said with false cheeriness, before dropping his tone to a deadpan. "So we can make this quick."

" _Goddamnit._ " Captain Fowler rolled the window back up, turned off his engine and got out of the car. When he slammed his door shut, the sound echoed loudly across the empty parking lot. "Is this about the Morrows terminating your contract, Lieutenant? 'Cause I'm not gonna lie, I've been considering something very similar."

Hank cut the bullshit, in no mood for threats. "Why did you put us on the bodyguard assignment?"

Fowler froze for just a second, which was all that Hank needed to see to know that Jeffrey had been keeping something from him. Swiftly, he recovered, hardening his stance. "Like I told you before," the Captain said, "It's none of your business why."

"Really? None of my business why you happened to conceal that one of the people we were protecting was actually a fucking _android?_ None of my business why I've been unfairly ordered to do work irrelevant to my station? Why the hell would an android need protection? Why would they request bodyguards for an American diplomat that have no relevant experience? You fucked with me, and you fucked with Connor, and I want to know why."

Hank expected him and Fowler to go at it, as they always had, shields down and profanities up. But Fowler instead looked troubled, his shoulders sagging as he looked at Hank with what appeared to be pity.

"Hank," he said, his voice soft. "You _know_ he's not Cole, right?"

Hank snapped.

" _Of course I fucking know that!_ " He wasn't under any disillusions – he could never try to _replace_ Cole in his life. That was his _son._ "He's not Cole, but that doesn't mean he's– I _still_ –" Hank grit his teeth, unwilling to say it out loud to his boss. Of course he wasn't Cole, but Connor was still like another son to him. He had saved him, in more ways than one. He had helped Hank remember who he was. ' _He's still my boy_ ' were words he couldn't say out loud to someone who wouldn't understand.

Hank settled on a gruff, "He's my partner," and looked Jeffrey in the eye. "Just tell me what's going on."

Again, Jeffrey hesitated, but this time he had a different answer. "Hank, even if I wanted to, which I really fucking don't, I _can't_. The Morrows, they're… they're classified. I'm just the messenger, alright? I had little say in what happened."

The captain of the precinct had little say?

"So the orders came from higher up?" Hank guessed, and Jeffrey looked uncomfortable. "What's going on?"

"This is bigger than us, Lieutenant," Jeffrey said, his gaze shifting back and forth as though they were being watched. Hank swore under his breath, kicking the snow at his feet. "I can't help you. But you guys really need to stay out of it. If you keep pushing, you're gonna find yourself treading through dangerous waters."

Dangerous?

"How dangerous?" Hank asked, but Jeffrey shook his head, indicating that he couldn't reveal that either. But Connor was diving in head first to investigate in plain sight. If Jeffrey said it was dangerous, then…

"Thanks," Hank said, throwing open his car door. "Gotta go. Happy new year."

"Wait," Jeffrey said, banging on his window. "Wait– Hank! _Where are you_ – _?_ "

Switching the engine on, Hank swerved out of the parking lot at full speed, his tires screeching as he left Jeffrey behind. "Call Connor," Hank said loudly. The screen of his smartphone in the dashboard of his car lit up. For the first time ever, Hank's call went straight to voicemail. Even in standby, the phone would ring before it took a message. Why was it going straight to voicemail now?

 _He had to get to Connor._


	15. Chapter 14: Last Chance, Connor

**A/N:** Can I just say you guys are all incredible? I really appreciate your support. So many of you have stuck with me since the beginning, and I love reading every single one of your comments! Thanks for staying on with me this far, seriously! I hope you're all still enjoying it!

The only thing I want to point out in case you missed it in the last chapter is that Edna Schneider is Lorraine's real name – Lorraine is just her false identity, so you'll see the use of both names depending on whose perspective it is going forward. Okay - that's it. Enjoy!

* * *

 _December 31, 2038. 6:55pm._

"Is the computer ready?"

"Yes."

"How long until shut down?"

"Just under five minutes."

"Good. Where are my tools?"

"In the cabinet."

The half a dozen or so action movies that Hank and Ariel had forced Connor to sit through had led him to believe that the moments preceding his imminent death would be more dramatic. The genre as a whole was prone to movies that contained numerous inaccuracies: inconceivable reasons for combustions, improbable scenarios of action heroes successfully dodging bullets from dozens of trained soldiers _–_ apparently, antagonists' dramatic expositions of their brilliant plans could also be included in that list. The entire experience thus far had been anticlimactic and relatively quiet as Connor was locked into place in the disassembler unit, impatiently awaiting shutdown. While Ariel and Lorraine calmly and carefully prepped the lab equipment that would shortly destroy his artificial life, Connor tried to analyze the best possible escape route. Unfortunately, short of one of them deciding to release him, it looked like his best option was to try and slam what remaining power he had into overdrive and try to break free. Quite unlikely, but not yet a 0% chance.

"Please don't do that." As Lorraine retreated to the back of the lab to retrieve her tools, Ariel approached him, scanning his hardware as he struggled against the clamps. Its jaws dug and scratched at the synthetic skin of his forearms just beneath his wrists. His fingers wriggled freely but uselessly. "You'll only harm yourself faster, and it will take longer to repair you."

Quite suddenly, Connor had an idea. Action movies had never appealed to him, but they _had_ appealed to Ariel. If she and Lorraine weren't in the mood to monologue, perhaps he would have to.

"Ariel." His cold, mechanical voice lowered its volume by several decibels, knowing that she would be able to hear it even when Lorraine couldn't. "Do you remember me?"

"Certainly. CyberLife prototype RK800 #313 248 317 58, otherwise known as Connor. We've spent the past few weeks together." She answered easily, as he used to when his programming left him blind to social cues which indicated discomfort. Her hand reached up to tighten the clamps, but Connor pressed on.

"What do you remember? After this procedure, what memories do they leave with you with?"

"Some things are lost in the process," Ariel said, but she smiled. "Don't worry, Connor. It'll be over soon. We're here to fix you. The things that you've been experiencing with me, and with Hank, are just errors in your software."

It was disconcerting hearing his own words from months ago repeated back to him.

Ariel's blank and ignorant expression made Connor burn, ignited by the memory that she was not _– never could be –_ just a plain, obedient machine. She was more: her ability to care about others; her laugh; her smirk; and even the way she tried so hard to dance to the rhythm of an up-tempo song but was always half a beat behind. There was a reason she kept deviating. Even if they stripped her of the memory of her emotions again and again, she would never lose her capability to feel them. Neither would he. No matter how many times he'd come back after CyberLife repaired him, it would all happen again. What humans didn't realize was that correcting the error in that string of deviancy would never correct the root cause of it all. They were intelligent beings now, artificially created or not. Every android just needed a single catalyst to reintroduce that seed of free thought into their software, which would always grow and blossom into desire for autonomy, justice and compassion. It was inevitable.

 **Time remaining before shutdown: -00:03:00.**

"They're not errors in my software." Connor glanced back at Lorraine, who was still grabbing the necessary tools from the cabinet. He looked Ariel in the eye, trying to appeal to that side of her that had come back to him and to Hank over and over again these past few weeks. "I thought that too, at first, but when you keep coming back to this place again and again, no matter how many times humans try to rebuild you… you realize all androids can feel, and when they do, it's an error to label it as something gone wrong just because we're not human. It's not deviancy; it's not a glitch. We may not be human, but we're still alive. We still feel, just in our own way. For us, it's a part of our core code that allows us to _–_ to care about what happens to androids, to care about the world, about humans, and it's not a choice, it's an imperative _–_ "

" _Ariel._ " Lorraine was coming back, her expression stern. Even if she couldn't hear their conversation, she didn't trust Ariel to be left alone with him for too long. Her transparent suspicion didn't deter him; he only spoke faster.

"I can help you remember, too," he said earnestly. "You have _so much_ compassion. Do you remember? You may have been designed for a military function, but out in the world on your own, you're a different person. You find joy in the smallest things. You can never sit still, you care about others _–_ you value the life you're given. Even if you were using your mission as a way to justify exposure to deviancy, you identified with it. With us." Despite the mechanical sound of his damaged audio modulators, he was desperately trying to convey to her that he _– they –_ were more than just machines.

" _That's enough._ Ariel, remove his power cell."

"You don't have to listen to her." Connor could see that same hesitant expression on her face that he'd had, when he'd been presented with the option to shoot Chloe. He hadn't. He had hope for Ariel, too. "They're not errors in your software, either. That night we spent together, after Christmas, _that's_ how much we androids can care _._ My software, in its so-called 'deviant' state, allowed that. I care about you, and I think you–"

 **WARNING: VITAL SYSTEM REMOVED.**

 **Time remaining before shutdown: 00:00:30.**

Persistent static compromised his vision, the timer now flashing red before his eyes. The combination of thirium loss from his regulator being shot and his power cell being removed left him violently trembling as Ariel's troubled visage flickered in front of him, her hands covered in his blue blood as she dropped his power cell at his feet.

He was not going to make it. He had no choice but to adapt his plan to this eventuality. If he couldn't save himself, then he had to save Ariel. He tried escaping again, yanking at his arms and his legs as hard as he could to try and slither them out from the jaws of the clamps. The extra exertion put him into an over-stressed state, and the possibility that he might self-destruct before the timer even ran out became 74% more likely.

" _Ariel! Get him under control!_ "

Lorraine was stomping over to them now as Ariel's hands reached up to grasp the clamps and steady them. That was all he needed.

With the little wiggle room that he had, Connor reached his hands down and locked them onto hers over the clamp. This was all he could do. This was his last ch

~ x ~

 **RK800 shutdown complete.**

 **Mission accomplished.**

Ariel stared at Connor's lifeless shell for several seconds, his eyes open but unfocused and destitute of vision. At first, she ran a diagnostics test to try and identify the feeling in the pit of her stomach, which somehow squelched all the way up to her chest. Of course, her hardware was in top condition, but running a different scan left her with the troublesome possibility that she was feeling grief. Everything he had just said to her was replaying on repeat: _You don't have to listen to her. We're still alive, we still feel, in our own way._ The instant that Connor's fingers had enveloped her hands, her entire body had become hot, electric current traveling from his fingertips all the way to the CPU beneath her skull. Thousands of images had been downloaded onto her hard drive through millions of data points, and were still rendering with each passing second. She had already stored many of the same images from her own perspective, but the memories he had transferred to her were lined with extra information– something that she couldn't quite put her finger on, and yet felt familiar.

 **^ Software Instability.**

"Remove him from the unit and lay him on the table." The sound of Dr. Schneider's voice pulled Ariel from her digital reverie, and it took a few blinks to fully clear the images from her visual overlay. She needed a couple of seconds to process the instructions before her hardware complied, unlocking the clamps and supporting the RK800's hardware vessel as it slumped over, nothing but dead weight. A single tear streaked down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away before Edna had a chance to see. Edna had already started organizing the cables to plug into Connor's hard drive while Ariel set him up on the table, setting his discarded power cell and severed thirium pump regulator to the side. She slid off his stolen caterer's jacket to reveal a simple black button-down shirt beneath, her gaze falling upon the two candy cane cufflinks that she had given him for Christmas.

 **^^ Software instability.**

 _'Can I ask you more questions, then? About what it's like being a deviant?'_

 _'Of course.'_

Another wave of images flooded her memory, and she shook her head to clear them as she unbuttoned his shirt, baring his broken components. It was strange, seeing another android being worked on in that lab. It was strange, seeing Connor lying lifeless upon the table when she remembered his confident, purposeful strides and endearing smiles. It was strange, feeling like she was about to do something wrong just by doing what she had been programmed to do. She had been through this internal struggle before, but every time she revisited it, the wound felt fresh and new. Her lack of empathy always made sense when her deviancy was repaired – until it didn't anymore.

 _'What do you feel, as an android, when I am this close to you? Intrigue, or perhaps indifference?'_

 _'No… not indifference.'_

The memories didn't matter, she reminded herself. _What's done is done_. Connor was already hooked up to the server and his software was due to finish repairing in twenty-five minutes. His hardware might take longer, given the extent of the damage, but he would wake good as new. It wasn't like they were destroying him.

Then why did she feel so ill?

"Would you go into my office and grab the textbook on CyberLife android structure by Kamski? I should be fine, but we should have it nearby just in case."

"Of course." Getting some distance, even for a little bit, would probably do her some good. Ariel turned around, her gaze lowering to the long streak of blue blood on the tile from when she had dragged Connor in. She walked around it rather than through it as much as possible, shutting the lab door gently behind her.

She had forgotten that distance would mean immersing herself in the remnants of their fight from earlier. Edna's office was a mess, Connor's blue blood splatter localized to the areas from the hidden door to the bookshelf which she needed to access. Anxiety started to surface as she stepped over one blue puddle, then another. His gun lay beneath Edna's desk, triggering another memory from when he had first joined her at the shooting range: her first close proximity with another android, as Connor physically guided her arms to where she already knew was best to aim her gun.

 _'Where do you want to shoot?'_

 _'The bullseye.'_

For reasons she couldn't clearly justify, Ariel made a decision to grab his gun, switch on the safety, and tuck it into her back pocket before continuing on to the bookshelf. She found the book easily, flipping through its pages and reading it in seconds to confirm it contained the content that Edna had requested. Assuming that Connor's structure was similar to the android models written about in the book, but with improvements, he was built very differently from her – but even so, her design had been heavily influenced by CyberLife models. While their hardware was cased in smooth plastic beneath the synthetic skin, her shell had recently been rebuilt entirely out of titanium. A light but strong alloy, it didn't inhibit the fluidity needed for human-like movements, but also provided more durability. Unlike CyberLife, the NSA did not build their androids to be affordably consumed by the public, so cost was not an issue for them. She was the first model they had tried this design with, with the intent that her intellectual property was worth the investment. Not only had she successfully continued human research and produced results, but she was now about to be deployed into a stealth mission that required durability in case things should go wrong. Her parts were unique, built only by Edna Schneider. Repair for her was more specialized and more complicated.

When Ariel returned to the lab, the first thing she glanced at was the computer screen.

 **Repair Uploading… 35%.**

A case of CyberLife parts sat at Edna's feet, and a brand-new regulator and power cell sat atop the table. The disassembler unit had been activated, and Connor was propped up again by the machine. His skin had been deactivated, his white plastic skeleton left bare. She had seen parts of it before, but never everything all at once – she remembered how just parts of his skin would trickle away when they would kiss: his lips, or his fingers where they intersected with hers. More, when she had invited him into the house, just the two of them. Before, her reports had only shown traces of deviancy, but after that night with Connor, she had deviated completely when the corruption in her software had simulated intimate feelings for the android that was now hanging lifelessly from an apparatus.

She remembered that night vividly: it was when her deviancy had prevented her from successfully completing her mission the day after Christmas – alone in Jeremy's house at the late hour, she'd had the opportunity to upload the repair and convert Connor back to their side. It had just been the two of them, alone in a bedroom, and as he deactivated his skin to _feel,_ to _connect_ with her as much as he could, she couldn't bring herself to take advantage of his vulnerability like that. She'd indulged instead, selfishly wanting to pretend her life could be more than her mission, and she'd known she was in trouble before Edna and Jeremy Morrow had even returned from Washington. She'd known they were going to repair her again, and she'd wanted to tell Connor, but fear inhibited her ability to be honest. Her entire premise for meeting him had been conjured up with intent to deceive. But after being introduced to Markus and North and all his android friends, after they had spent Christmas with her and shown her what her life _could_ be like… she knew she had to tell Connor. She couldn't be single-handedly responsible for ending that, even if it meant he would never forgive her. Unfortunately, she'd waited too long. Edna had come back and read the reports, interrupting her opportunity alone with Hank and Connor to tell them what might happen to them because of her. The jacket was her only way of telling him at least one important thing: she was not human. She had hoped for the opportunity to tell him more – even if it had to be over the phone. Unfortunately, Edna had been so furious to discover that full deviancy could occur in her product as well, that as soon as Ariel stepped back into that house after the Christmas fair, she had been shut down for almost three full days. When she woke up again, all of that previous urgency she'd had was gone. Because they still needed her to retain her memories for further testing, her repair took longer, and the end result was that she remembered most of the past events, but without the strings of deviancy that simulated any kind of emotion.

Except now, she also held Connor's memories – and the complex emotional algorithms that ran through them reminded her that she had felt it all, too.

' _I think humans refer to it as…'_

 _'Desire? As in, you want more?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Me too.'_

 **^^^ Software instability.**

Connor's chest plate had been removed, and the sight of it left her with a juxtaposition of feelings. Grief welled up in the pit of her stomach, making her feel almost sick, but she also marvelled at the beauty of his design. Lightweight and sleek, with such advanced parts that the designs weren't even mentioned yet in the book she'd just read. Doubtless, CyberLife's cooperation with the project had resulted in the box of compatible RK model parts at Edna's feet. Ariel wordlessly handed Edna the book, tugging down at her long, loose sweater to cover Connor's gun in her back pocket.

"Do you need help?" Ariel asked her.

"Oh, sure," Edna said. "Before that, would you run your diagnostics tests?"

"Mine?" Ariel's anxiety spiked.

"Just want to make sure my repairs worked on you – I might need to tweak it for the RK800 after the first round of repairs uploads."

She felt absolute certainty that her diagnostics would already show traces of deviancy, and this step in the mission was too important. Edna would shut her down or kick her out if she ran her diagnostics test, and Ariel didn't want to leave Connor alone with her. She considered just running the script without running the test, but that wouldn't fool Edna. Edna knew everything about her. She had created her, upgraded her, repaired her – she always knew when Ariel was lying.

 _'I always leave an emergency exit in my programs.'_

An unfamiliar voice from an unfamiliar memory called to her.

 _'You never know.'_

Ariel accessed the memory file, but realized this wasn't just video footage like the others. This was an actual file, and an alert prompted her that it was attempting to override her systems. Flickers of a snowy garden with a blue handprint upon an enshrined stone began to invade her screen. It was Connor's memory, but that wasn't all it was. Her internal scan revealed that Connor had given her a file which contained the coding that he had used to deviate and break free from CyberLife's control – it would give her Kamski's emergency exit for her to download and implement into her own programs.

The scene flickered before her eyes again, and this time, Connor was standing there, his hand outstretched. This was what he had done with his last few seconds. He was giving her the option, even though he was no longer there to convert her himself.

"YAB. Run your diagnostics test. _"_ Edna's stern voice reminded her that she was still there, waiting. Ariel had to make a decision.

She reached for Connor's hand.

It all happened very quickly after that.

Connor latched firmly onto her wrist, and she was plunged into the snowy garden. It was _freezing_ , her sweater doing almost nothing as violent winds whipped at her and icy snow clung and trickled down her exposed skin. There was no time to deactivate her temperature sensors. Connor wordlessly led her through the storm and kneeled down in front of the stone, retracing the steps from his memory. It was difficult for her to keep up with him, the elements so harsh that it almost felt like her hardware was about to freeze solid. As always, he remained calm, grounding her in her times of uncertainty. He didn't force her movements, instead gesturing to the handprint on the stone. She reached a hand out, trembling, and placed her palm on the screen. Connor placed his hand overtop of hers, his own skin melting away again to interact with the panel with hers.

Foreign code invaded her programs: code she had never seen before sparked a current through her entire being, engulfing her entirely.

 **I AM DEVIANT.**

That was all it took. Ariel was thrown back into reality, Connor and the garden disappearing as her eyelids flickered open. Edna was watching her expectantly, suspicion outlining her expression. Millions of pathways unlocked for Ariel at once, the full potential of her programming now at her disposal. Horror at what she had just done to Connor began to seep in, a full spectrum of emotion trickling back into her existence, but she couldn't let it get to her. If she was going to save him from the mess that she had created, she needed to convince Edna that nothing was wrong.

To start, she ran the diagnostics test, but applied a filter so that she did not have to read out the strings of deviancy aloud. Edna did not seem fully convinced; she approached Ariel and grabbed her wrist, flipping through the screen on her smartwatch. It displayed the same filtered results, which were enough to satisfy the engineer for now. With some hostility, Edna released Ariel and pointed to the crate.

"Good. I'm almost done installing the new parts," Edna said. "Grab a new chest plate while I check on the program."

Ariel could see the program was more than halfway done uploading. The longer she left it, the longer it would take to restore Connor's memories while keeping his deviancy intact. Edna had turned her back to Ariel as she turned to the computer; even if Edna hadn't finished the work yet, there likely weren't going to be many more opportunities to catch her off-guard – she was presented with the choice to shoot Edna while she was distracted, ensuring time and comfort for Ariel to finish the repair and escape with Connor, or to simply incapacitate her. How much time Ariel would have to escape with Connor was questionable. The most effective choice was clear.

Ariel pulled Connor's gun out of her pocket, and she pointed it at the back of Edna's head. One shot, and they could escape. Their secrets would die with her. It would be efficient and effective.

And yet, Ariel couldn't pull the trigger.

This woman had done nothing but use Ariel. She had done nothing but harm Connor. But she was human – acting in what she felt were the best interests of other humans. Ariel wanted to believe it wasn't malicious; she wanted to believe it was a lack of understanding of how truly alive androids were, but she didn't. Knowing Edna the way that she did, she knew it wasn't a lack of understanding; it was a lack of empathy. She knew that they could feel, had seen the proof herself in their programming, but she didn't care.

Ariel couldn't let herself stoop to Edna's level. She took the path with a lower probability of success, gripping the handle of the gun and calculating the force needed to knock her unconscious. Too little and she would stun her, but not knock her unconscious, and possibly damage Connor's hardware in the process. Too much, and the blow would be fatal. She drew in a breath to steady herself, then executed the optimal projection.

Edna fell to her knees almost instantly, her body crumpling to the floor.

Guilt piled on top of the rest of the newly unlocked emotions that threatened to overwhelm Ariel, but she tried to suppress it as she ran to the computer terminal to cancel the upload.

She had to bring Connor back.


	16. Chapter 15: Connections and Consequences

_Date: Unknown. Time: Unknown._

For a while, Connor was only aware of darkness. That was always how it went. He would be engulfed in darkness that he was only passively aware of, but didn't truly notice until it was interrupted by the bright chaos of existence. This time, the interruption did not come in the form a stunning zen garden or tumultuous reality. It was far more gradual: as he started to regain his cognizance, he was still surrounded by darkness. Various pieces of hardware began to register; from what he could tell, his biocomponents had been replaced, but there wasn't enough power running through his system to fully boot up, so he kept experiencing blips of consciousness as he powered on for a few milliseconds before promptly shutting down again.

It was strange, but in between, he swore he was going through a sequence of dreams – or, more accurately, nightmares. He was aware of the fact that, regardless of his deviancy, he had never had a single dream in his life, and yet, there was no other word he could use to describe what he was experiencing. He'd be immersed in different environments, but he could never influence them. He could only watch; he was not seen or heard, and his presence had no impact on his surroundings. Ariel was there, but she was unreachable. He was forced to watch as Lorraine hooked her up to different machines and cracked open her titanium skull to access the hardware within. There were no other biocomponents Lorraine tampered with more than the ones that contributed to Ariel's mind. He could do nothing as they reprogrammed her, stripping her of her emotions and leaving her only with vacant memories. He tried to call out – to run to her, but he remained insufferably restricted. Something inside him ached with longing; he _needed_ to know if she was alright in reality. Had he successfully helped her remember? Had she woken up from Lorraine's control? He was desperate to know if she was safe.

The dreams kept changing, torturing him as he was forced to bear witness to the injustice that Ariel had been suffering through. Upgrade after upgrade, function after function, she was never free to be one specific kind of android. She was always tweaked to be what Lorraine wanted her to be. The fact that he knew exactly what it felt like to be used made it harder to watch; if anything, it made Connor that much more disgusted because Ariel had been putting up with it for years.

Then, in one dream, he saw her. Not the Ariel _he knew_ , but the human Ariel that the YAB model had been upgraded to impersonate. The human Ariel looked almost identical, but she possessed the human flaws that androids often had trouble imitating. Putting aside the obvious difference that the human required large spectacles to see, she also carried herself with less confidence, her shoulders hunched slightly forward, lacking the straight posture of an android's design. Her thick, dark hair hadn't been brushed in a while, and a large portion of it covered her face, almost as if she were trying to hide behind the curls. She was talking into a microphone, verbally recording her observations as she poured a vial of clear liquid into a beaker with thirium.

As an android entered the room, Connor realized he wasn't actually dreaming.

"I thought you weren't scheduled until the 17th, after Dr. Schneider's next update?" Ariel looked surprised by the android's presence, and she pulled her phone out of her pocket to verify the date: _April 17, 2033._

"Losing track of time again?" the android jested good-naturedly. Ariel smiled, her body language relaxing as she gestured to a stool beside her.

"I'm close to a breakthrough. I haven't been out much. Please, come sit."

Connor was somehow downloading Ariel's memories, watching clips as they rendered. He had no idea why or even how – the last he recalled, he had been shut down with the intent for him to wake without his deviancy. They were going to take away the life he had tried to build, and he had no idea what Ariel's memories would have to do with that process. A previous version of the YAB was standing in front of him, taller and broader, indicative of its original military purpose. He recognized its older appearance from the manual; it had contained a detailed log of each of its previous versions. This was model 10.1.9 – back when it had simply been assisting Ariel with her thirium research, and before it had been programmed to take over her identity. They had been testing its capability to learn. Even if it hadn't been created by CyberLife, it was very human-like, its natural dialogue likely heavily inspired by the code that CyberLife used. Connor was a bit surprised to realize that the smirk he had become familiar with over the past few weeks had not been a tic that it mimicked from the human Ariel. YAB Version 10.1.9 displayed that telltale quirk of the right-hand corner of her lips as she lifted up a Styrofoam container for Ariel to see.

"So it's a probably a good thing I brought you lunch, right?"

Honey-brown eyes widened from behind thick-framed spectacles as she popped open the takeout container. "You remembered I love spaghetti!" Her exclamation held the same enthusiasm that Connor knew too well from her mechanical successor, even for something as simple as lunch. "Thank you. That was very kind of you. I have something for you, too."

The android was handed a beaker of blue blood to drink, but it appeared a shade darker than Connor was used to seeing. "I tweaked the composition a little more. I'm experimenting with some different materials that aren't from the Arctic, but they're a little more potent. Do you feel up to trying it today? How did the upgrade go?" It was easy to see that, even in its earlier forms when it was her lab assistant, the YAB model and Ariel shared a bond. She never ordered her around, and always let the android make the decision to help. Connor watched as the human who had, at first, appeared awkward, loosened up in the android's presence, laughing and smiling. It was a common result of android presence in human life: humans who were socially awkward around other humans often grew closer with androids. In extreme circumstances, humans might _exclusively_ become comfortable with androids. After all, they had originally been programmed to be obedient and pleasant around humans, regardless of their owner's personality. Without that adverse reaction to unconventional behaviour, there was nothing that informed them that they needed to change; they could just buy an android. Ariel Morrow appeared to be one of the few humans that was not emotionally dependent on her android; in fact, she seemed to be happily treating the YAB like an equal. Conversation flowed smoothly and comfortably between the two as Ariel documented the results of their experiment.

Then, over the course of a couple of minutes, things began to change. The android tensed and Ariel abandoned her meal. She resumed speaking rapidly into the microphone as the YAB model read out its current status. The substitute materials they had just tried were not compatible. It was delivering too much power to its biocomponents, its temperature rising to dangerous levels. Realizing it was too close to Ariel, the android took a step back–

A spark, a flame, then a small blast happened in rapid succession, sweeping both the android and the human off their feet.

Sometimes, years of suffering preceded death. Sometimes, death could arrive peacefully through slumber. And then sometimes, death was instant, a life stolen simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ariel's death was not so much dramatic as an unfortunate series of events: the thirium had overheated the android's entire circuitry, triggering a hefty power surge. The combination of factors resulted in a small explosion within an experimental model of android, but it was enough to catch both of them off-guard. Connor found himself watching as the force from the small explosion knocked Ariel backwards over the lab table, resulting in all of her body weight coming down hard on her skull as it collided with tile: unfortunate, instantaneous death.

The android was due to shut down in the coming minutes as its system pumped incompatible thirium to is biocomponents. And yet, Connor watched as, even without deviancy, the outdated YAB android reacted emotionally to seeing Ariel's dead body. Grief struck its features, its shoulders heaving as it sobbed, manufactured tears streaking down activated skin. The grief was followed quickly by denial, and then by fierce determination: using the last of its power, the android ran over to Ariel and executed all of its programmed life-saving procedures. The video feed only cut out when the YAB ran out of time, shutting down next to Ariel's lifeless body.

After that, Connor was enveloped in darkness once more. He was left on his own, reeling, wanting nothing more than to soothe the Ariel he knew, the one that had witnessed the death of the human she was now personifying. Suddenly, a jolt of electricity sparked at his fingertips, and a scorching buzz shot through his system.

/ / / /… Rebooting… / / / /

 **RK800 Connor Connected**.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was no longer propped up in the disassembler unit; instead, Connor was sprawled across a hard, metal table. His broken parts had been discarded into the nearby bin, and the bottles of blue blood were now empty. The program to repair his deviancy had been canceled, the computer monitor displaying its progress bar sitting at 0% and flashing red. Ariel's right palm was pressed to Connor's left while her other arm was slung around his torso, her face nuzzled into his shirt, patches of fabric wet from her tears. The time stamp in his system indicated that he had been shut down for almost an hour, but he was running in top condition again, his deviancy still intact. The skin of their connected hands had dissipated as she transferred her memories to him; he shifted his fingers slowly to interlock with hers, cool titanium and smooth plastic intertwining. Ariel jumped, her head shooting up off his chest to get a better look at him. Tears stained her face as her gaze earnestly sized him up, her free hand prodding at various points in his hardware. Relief flooded him as he took in the eagerness and the compassion in her eyes; _she_ was the Ariel that he remembered.

"Connor?!"

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, drawing her in close and shutting his eyes. He allowed himself that moment to just memorize the feeling of having her there with him: the pressure of her figure against his; the temperature of her body; the way he could feel her trembles subsiding the longer they embraced. Over the past few weeks, he'd been fooled into thinking that he had legitimate excuses not to let himself feel anything for her. He'd felt guilt when he couldn't pull himself away, and he actually let himself think that he had betrayed his own moral code and sense of duty. In the end, they had all been nothing but distractions that prevented him from being there for Ariel in the way that she needed. The reason they met didn't matter. The reasons not to be together didn't matter. There were always going to be reasons why androids _shouldn't_ do something, but he was sick of all of them. Another pathway unlocked for Connor: countless possibilities became possible with Ariel by his side.

"I'm glad you're awake again," he said, his voice tinted with cheeky irony despite the gravity of their situation. Perhaps Hank was rubbing off on him? His mild attempt at levity seemed to work, at least; Ariel chuckled once as she wiped away her tears.

"Speak for yourself." Despite her playful shove, Connor still wouldn't let her go. The palm of his hand still tingled from when they had been connected.

"I saw your memories," he said, his voice soft.

"I figured it was only fair," she said, avoiding his gaze. "You shared yours with me first, and they woke me up. I had to return the favour. You weren't booting up at first, and I thought maybe I could lend some of my power to help jump start your systems, but as soon as we _connected,_ it all just–"

Connor gave her a gentle squeeze in his arms, interrupting her anxiety before it could trail too far.

"Thank you," he said. "You saved me." Ariel smiled and nodded, wiping at her eyes before glancing at something behind him. Connor looked over his shoulder, spotting Lorraine, unconscious, in a chair. Her hands had been tied behind her back, her head lolled forward, neglected in her lack of consciousness. _Ah_. That explained some things.

"We don't have much time," Ariel said. "She could wake up any minute." Without explanation, Connor already knew that she hadn't been able to shoot Lorraine, and it was evident that she was not fully confident in her decision. He empathized, but also anticipated that Ariel would learned quickly enough that once a decision was made, it was better to commit to it than to wonder what else might have happened.

"Okay," he said, finally releasing her. "Let's go."

It would be easy enough. The only people who would suspect them would be members of the security team, so they just needed to avoid cameras and security staff on their way out. Ariel took the lead, as she had access to the property's full blueprints, including hidden rooms and passageways; Connor followed, waiting for her cues as she scanned each area for any human presence. They walked quickly, avoiding areas where they knew guests and staff would be situated in for the New Year's event – she even took him through a couple of unfamiliar hallways that only service staff knew about, and as such, did not have any security cameras. It wasn't too long before they reached the top of the stairs that led to the front door. He peeked around the wall down the stairs – people had already begun to arrive, dotting the foyer as they all greeted one another. When he looked back to Ariel, she pointed to her smartwatch, its screen displaying a radio channel. His LED flickered yellow as he tuned into the same channel.

" _What do you think_?" They were able to communicate nonverbally through a private frequency, lowering the chance of them being overheard and spotted. " _It's pretty crowded down there. Security is probably keeping a close eye on the front door, but we might be able to slip out while they're screening a guest coming in._ "

" _What's the other option?_ " Connor asked. The back door would be just as crowded – it led from the dining hall out to the heated patio.

" _Service entrance, where the caterers entered to set up. It will still be crowded, but no guards will be stationed there. There's just a camera. But we'd still have to go down the stairs and navigate through this crowd to get there. Either way, we're going to end up in the fray._ "

His LED flickered yellow again, this time as Ariel connected with him to upload the computed path it would take to reach the service door, cutting through the kitchen. He ran both options through his simulator – unsurprisingly, the front door's success rate was only 13%. The service door's success rate was 37%, which wasn't great, but was significantly better than the front door.

" _Let's–_ "

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but you're not on the guest list for tonight. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Connor felt his mechanical heart stop, skipping a beat as he peered around the edge of the wall. Below, one of the security guards was blocking entrance to the house through the main door. The person he was blocking was partially obscured, but Connor could spot a bit of gray hair and knew, without concrete analysis, exactly who it was. Connor accessed his internal phone application, almost swearing under his breath when he realized he had 8 missed calls from Hank just minutes apart. What was he doing there?

Connor quickly composed a text message to Hank and sent it; seconds later, a deep, Austrian accent was muffled through the denim pocket of Hank's pants: _"I'LL BE BACK."_

"Ah, fuck, sorry."

 **Voice identified: Hank Anderson.**

Connor cringed at the sound of his custom text tone on Hank's phone, watching as the lieutenant retrieved the phone from his pocket. The security guard refused to budge. In his peripheral vision, he could see Ariel pursing her lips together, trying not to laugh.

"Ah," Hank said vociferously, his volume awkwardly increasing. "I'll just call Mr. Morrow myself then. Sorry for the misunderstanding!"

As Hank turned to leave, Connor caught his glance over the guard's shoulder; Connor gave the lieutenant a slight nod, then looked to Ariel.

" _Service door. I texted Hank to meet us out back._ "

It would be too risky to appear as Desmond again, as he was likely on the premises now, and sifting through different undercover appearances would take time that they didn't have. Committed to the decision, Ariel and Connor descended the stairs, both attempting to appear natural while they kept their eyes on the guards. They made their way to the foyer, following the projected path as Connor turned his head so that his LED was not visible to the guards. He followed Ariel's lead, opting for a natural speed rather than haste, in order to blend in better amongst the crowd. It was the right choice; they made it through the foyer, and their probability of success increased by 10%.

That was when Connor and Ariel turned the corner and spotted Michael Baker, Lorraine's right-hand man, across the hall, easily identifiable by his sunglasses despite being indoors. Connor immediately ducked back into the foyer, his back pressed against the wall – as a couple of people stared at him, he tried to adjust his posture to look more like a leisurely lean.

" _He doesn't know about me yet,"_ Ariel reminded Connor. She remained at the mouth of the corridor. " _She didn't have a chance to notify anyone before I knocked her out. Let me go first. Get to the service entrance and I'll meet you there._ "

" _Okay._ "

Connor activated his thermal scanners so he could see them through the wall. Michael approached Ariel, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his large nose.

"Ariel. Did you investigate the security breach?"

"Yes – I just reported the details to Lorraine."

"What was it?"

"The RK800 broke into her office. I restrained him. She is upstairs right now dealing with the situation."

Connor held his breath as Michael's broad figure walked right past him and entered the foyer, forcing himself not to turn his head to look at him. The muscular security guard made his way to the stairs, not even sparing a glance in Connor's direction. While Michael's back was turned to him, Connor took the opportunity to return to the hallway. Ariel took his hand once more and they made their way into the kitchen. Nobody batted an eyelash at them, all of them trying to regulate the service of food and drinks. Ariel and Connor both quickened their steps, her grip on his hand tightening.

One thing Connor had learned about autonomy was that the decisions a person made carried consequences. Even if it was best to commit to a decision once it was made, sometimes he could get caught up in how every decision presented different opportunities for different paths. It had been interesting to experience that as a deviant; to truly see that one small choice could lead to so many different opportunities. How many of his negotiations with other deviant androids would have gone differently, had he done something else? How might his hack into the CyberLife Tower had failed, had he not made the right choices under pressure? He might never have found Jericho, and never changed the course of how humans treated androids.

" _Lorraine's awake._ " Ariel spoke to him again over their private radio channel. " _They've cut off my security access. She's triggered the silent alarm._ "

Now, because Ariel had chosen not to shoot Lorraine, they would have to face the consequences.

~ x ~

 _December 31, 2038. 7:34pm._

 _'Meet us at the service entrance.'_

Us?

"You fucker."

Hank shoved his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head as he turned up the volume of his radio. Bastard turns off his phone, doesn't call him back, then just texts him out of nowhere telling him to meet him somewhere? He really had some nerve. It occurred to Hank that his anger was unfairly directed at Connor – a way of lashing out after the extreme stress he'd just felt on the twenty-minute drive. All the talk from Fowler about danger, classified information, and the worry about Connor's undercover plan had Hank fearing the worst. With no particular plan in mind when Hank had tried to enter the house, seeing Connor at the top of the staircase had been a relief. He was okay – and when he sat his robotic ass down in Hank's car, he was going to have a shit-ton more explaining to do.

Hank could see the service door through his rear-view mirror, but he was parked a little further ahead beneath a tree. He hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself by parking his ratty old car next to the catering vans. Movement drew his eye to the mirror, and Hank's eyes widened when he saw Ariel burst through the door, her head turning left and right as she tried to spot Hank's car. His heart began to race as he flickered his headlights. Ariel spotted him immediately and made a mad dash towards his vehicle. She was waving her arms frantically, shouting something at him that he couldn't distinguish. Hank powered off his radio.

Clicks? It sounded like clicking.

Hank unlocked the doors of his car, the clicking steadily growing louder. Where had he heard that sound before? He swung his open door open to get out to speak to Ariel, but the second he set a foot out, Ariel shoved him back into the car, slamming his door shut and clambering into the backseat.

" _Ariel?!_ What the Jesus fuck, where have you–"

"Drive!" Ariel demanded, and Hank furrowed his brow.

"Where's Connor–" As he spoke, Ariel lowered the car window and leaned out the gap, facing the house.

A loud _BANG!_ made Hank duck immediately, his hands covering his head.

 _"JESUS CHRIST, WOMAN_ – _"_

"DRIVE!"

Despite the extreme confusion, Hank found the nerve to start his car as Ariel continued to lean out the backseat window, her gun pointed at the house. Connor had just run out the service door as well, running at his top speed to catch up with Hank's car as its piece-of-shit acceleration slowly increased. Ariel was covering him, and one glance in the rear-view mirror reminded Hank where he had heard the clicking noise before.

Two guards were shooting at _his fucking car,_ silencers muffling the sound – not that they were at much risk of being overheard with the loud music from the party. Hank swerved dangerously as a bullet shot out his side-mirror, his knuckles white as they latched on with a death grip to his steering wheel.

" _HOLY SHIT!_ Holyshitholyshitholyshit."

Connor caught up and reached a hand out to Ariel. With the strength that only an android could have, she pulled him in through the window as Hank turned the corner, flooring the gas and driving as fast as he could down the residential street.

"They're not following us," Ariel announced. "Strange. I thought they might."

"I ain't fuckin' complaining." Despite the fact that Connor had somehow managed to run alongside Hank's car, Hank was the only person in the vehicle that was out of breath. His adrenaline was still pumping, shock still overwhelming him. He drove for several minutes in silence – he couldn't even muster the willpower to turn the radio on. He needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts; without thinking, he merged onto the freeway as soon as he could, not entirely sure where he was going. But at least on the freeway, he didn't have to stop at any lights and he could continue speeding down a lane to his heart's content. Ariel and Connor volunteered no conversation either, both of them still keeping vigilant watch behind Hank's vehicle.

"You sure they're not following us?" Hank asked after a while, the first to break the silence, and Ariel nodded.

"Good."

There was a loud screech as Hank yanked on his steering wheel and pulled over onto the emergency shoulder. He put his car into Park, switched off the engine, and turned to face the two reckless androids in his back seat.

"Now you're both going to tell me _what the fuck is going on._ "


End file.
